


Storm Oracle

by Exstarsis



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Gods, Angels, Bonding, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Fantasy, Found Family, I like Loki too, Multiple Pairings, Near Future, Original Character(s), Partnership, Plot, Psychic Abilities, Romance, Sex, Tricksters, Worldbuilding, a certain research facility in the middle of nowhere, but this isn't him, expys, inspired by this and that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 103,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exstarsis/pseuds/Exstarsis
Summary: Ten years ago the angel Sammael appeared in a burst of light over the ocean, unleashing the godstorms and afflicting a minority of the population with elemental Warp sensitivities. Now Piper Jones lives in squalor, bearing the mark of the Warped without any of the powers. A chance meeting brings her into contact with the enigmatic Malachai Beckett, a representative of the mysterious research facility known as the Ark. A liar by trade, he's fascinated by her generous spirit and sweet nature. As for Piper, she's attracted to him and everything he represents... but as for trusting him? That's a different matter.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 13





	1. A Brief Introduction To The World of Storm Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude to explain some setting details.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to skip this if you prefer to learn about a setting from context.

Imagine real human history with different geography, and as few countries as your favorite fantasy world.

That’s the world of Storm Oracle. Or at least it was, until ten years ago.

That was when the entity commonly known as Sammael briefly appeared over the ocean and everything changed. All over the world, a small minority of humanity developed patterned tattoo-like marks on their bodies—commonly called Warps—along with “elemental” psychic sensitivities that caused them to (it is claimed) involuntarily understand the moods and desires of classes of living things, categories of inanimate objects and local manifestations of more traditional elements.

(A microscopic percentage of the Warped can also provably _influence_ their element.)

Although winged, angelic Sammael appeared only once and hasn’t been seen since, that was when the godstorms began too. They’re awful, windy thunderstorms that hail hallucinogens, have lightning only the Warped can see, and unleash the monsters known as stormhounds. They come with every godstorm: nightmarish semi-intangible beasts that stalk and slaughter any human they can find for the duration of the storm.

Normal buildings do not stop stormhounds, who have been witnessed walking through walls in pursuit of prey. However, it is possible to build wards against the stormhounds using crystals harvested from the storm; it is also, with great difficulty and risk, possible to kill stormhounds, and claim the storm crystals at their hearts.

Now, many Warped have trouble finding and keeping jobs, since it’s commonly believed that having too many Warped in your life can lead to a shorter lifespan —an urban legend that comes with varying actual numbers. Many of them are extremely sensitive to godstorms, and believed to be twitchy and strange even in normal weather. Discrimination is currently legal and common.

Partially in response to this, the SDF (Storm Defense Force) preferentially hires those with Warps to battle stormhounds. Their ability to see godstorm lightning aids them in finding enemies without mechanical aid. The government also maintains warded public storm shelters that are most people’s only legal guarantee of surviving the storm.

However, because it has been statistically proven that stormhounds are attracted to the Warped, and storm crystal wards are consumed when triggered, the government limits how many Warped can be in a General Public Shelter. That law passed as part of a separate but equal doctrine, promising to build sufficient dedicated warded shelters for the Warped.

They never, ever build enough. It’s cheaper to do it the way they actually do: pay unemployed, desperate Warped per stormhound slain and let the two problems kill each other off.

There’s more than one country in the world of Storm Oracle—but you can accept the above as representative of the general dominant cultural attitudes.

Nobody knows where godstorms come from. They form apparently out of nowhere, in every condition. Nobody really knows how the storm hounds come from the godstorms, either.

Well, almost nobody.

Come discover answers with Piper Jones as she is recruited into the secret organization that knows.


	2. 1. Godstorm

The automatic streetlights flickered to life in the storm’s twilight. Loudspeakers atop tall poles blared a pre-recorded storm warning as Piper Jones hurried through the Rookery streets looking for shelter. The rising winds of the godstorm tugged against both her portfolio case and her hat and she was dreadfully sure she would be losing one or both of them soon. And if she couldn’t find shelter, she might lose much more than that.

Plastic bags and other debris whirled through the empty streets as pink lightning crawled across the dusky blue clouds and then darted into the city. Thunder so loud Piper felt it in her bones echoed off the buildings, and as it faded, she could hear the howls of the stormhounds the lightning had brought.

Piper froze, trying to catch her breath and calm her pounding heart. If only she hadn’t given up her place in the line for the Radio Lane Shelter to the nicely-dressed but terrified teenage boy who had clearly been caught away from his own upscale neighborhood. She’d told herself at the time that she probably wouldn’t have been admitted anyhow. General Purpose Godstorm Shelters were prohibited by law from having more than a handful of the Warped among their shelterees.

But now, with her ears still ringing from thunder most people could barely hear, she really wished she’d at least waited to be turned away. Dread prickling her skin, she stared up into the clouds, waiting for another crawl of the pink lightning that only the Warped such as herself could see. It was only the pounding feet of the SDF, the Storm Defense Force, that shook her out of her fearful fascination. She had no more interest in encountering the SDF than she did a stormhound.

Quickly she darted into the doorframe of a rickety tenement, trying hard to wedge herself into the corner. When the uniformed figures swept down the street, she stilled, holding her breath. If they found her, it would only lead to trouble of one kind or another. She had a bad history with the SDF.

But another burst of alien lightning lit up the sky, striking one of the tall buildings several streets over and then zig-zagging from structure to structure until it vanished in the depths of the city. The thunder a blink later came so hard the building over Piper shuddered.

The SDF’s rough discipline evaporated at the burst, with several members running toward the strike while others covered their ears and moaned. The SDF paid the Warped by the number of stormhounds they killed, and for many it was the only work they could find. But what a Warped wanted to do and what they could actually face were sometimes very different things. The sensitivities that came with having a Warp could make it even worse.

The building sheltering Piper shuddered again, this time in a tremendous gust of wind that shattered several windows higher up. Before she or the remaining SDF members could react, the hail started: thumb-sized pieces of ice that exploded into unnatural puffs of snow as they smacked into the ground. Yelling, the rest of the SDF members ran toward the latest lightning strike in a ragged mass, their heads down to make sure they didn’t step into any of the hallucinogenic snowspills.

Piper listened to the building above her groaning in the wind, while eyeing the hail and snowspills. As soon as the shower ended, the snowspills would evaporate quickly. But the storm had barely just begun. If she didn’t find better shelter soon, she’d most likely end up as one of the dead bodies recovered after every godstorm.

But where could she go? The official shelters were always full at this point in a storm. There were some unofficial ones she knew about: illicit things constructed with black market storm crystals that charged for their protection. Not something she had the cash to pay for right now, and while there might be other ways to pay, they would be as dangerous as the storm itself.

There were also the prayer shelters: free, because they relied on superstition, rituals and prayers for their protection rather than the solid truth of the storm crystal wards. Piper hated almost everything about them: the sweaty-handed prayer circles, the hymns, the guttering candles, the reverent stories told by those who believed in the creatures rumored to be behind the godstorms. Most of all, she hated the way they _almost_ always worked.

Almost always, but not always. There were stories after every storm about a hound that had made its way past the incense and the candles to savage a prayer group. Usually just a single prayer group, and always one that had a Warped present—but despite that, the prayer shelters continued to exist, and continued to accept everybody who would pray with them, whether they bore the mark of the Warped or not.

Piper would pray if she had to. Right now, it was the only option she had. As soon as the hail lessened, she darted back out into the street, heading for the Song for Peace Chapel four blocks away.

***

Malachai Beckett listened to the moaning song of the storm while keeping an eye on the hiding place of the girl he’d followed from the Radio Lane Shelter. When she darted out, still holding onto her broad-brimmed hat and her case, he strolled along after her. Although his initial hope that she’d prove genuinely interesting had so far been in vain, he was invested enough to be curious what would happen to her.

He’d followed her on a whim after seeing the angular mark of the Warped on her arm, and how she’d given up her place in the Shelter line to somebody else. He’d been in Radio Lane to check on the status of one of his projects when the storm’s first gusts, three hours early, had sent everybody into a semi-controlled panic. He didn’t enjoy seeing the chaos a godstorm brought, but solving that was not his job. On the other hand, observing and reporting on _interesting things_ was.

The girl struggled ahead of him against the wind while tugging on her case, and he wondered what it contained that was so important to her. It didn’t look like the kind of business case he carried with him into certain meetings. It was much lighter, for one, which is why it was causing her so many problems in the wind. And that hat! It was a battered old thing that looked like it had survived many storms before. Clearly she valued it, probably more than the case.

Lightning sang overhead again. The godstorm was expending its energy fast and hard. Possibly it knew he was in the city and had reacted accordingly. This time, the pink lightning crackled to a nearby building and then sprang down the street to ground itself less than a block ahead of the girl. As the dazzling brightness faded, four stormhounds formed: long-legged horned beasts that were half energy, half matter.

The girl stopped dead and the wind promptly snatched the case from her fingers. Malachai put out his hand and caught the case as it rocketed past before continuing his stroll after the girl. For all the stormhounds’ supernatural nature, they behaved like predatory animals. That meant it took a moment for them to decide on prey after they’d formed. Only a moment, but that was plenty of time for Malachai to take action… if action he needed to take. It was still possible this girl would prove interesting.

Alas, she backed away from the stormhounds slowly, still holding onto her hat. Perfectly ordinary behavior for anybody with a hat obsession facing stormhounds, really. Not at all interesting.

Oh well.

As the closest stormhound leapt toward her, she stumbled backward and fell, her hands instinctively going out to catch herself. Malachai darted forward, caught her hat as she fell, dropped the case beside her and thrust his open palm toward the crackling jaws of the stormhound. As soon as he touched it, it dissolved back into its parent storm.

He eyed the other three hounds coldly. They hesitated as the first of their number vanished, then, heads low, parted to prowl around Malachai and the girl in pursuit of easier prey.

Satisfied, Malachi turned a bright smile onto the girl. “Hello, miss. Are you—oops!”

The case he’d dropped beside her had become unlatched so that even the lessened wind around Malachai had flung it open. The heavier contents, such as there had been, were tumbling away, and the lighter contents were a flurry of papers dancing down the street.

But she didn’t even seem to notice as she blinked up at him, her soft blue eyes shocked. “You saved my hat.”

Malachai’s annoyance at the case opening was replaced by smugness at having correctly weighed her priorities. Then the wind picked up the case itself and carried it away. She cried out in dismay, rolling onto her knees and instinctively reaching after what was long gone.

“I’m so sorry, Miss!” said Malachai. “We should get out of this weather, though.”

He held out his hand to her as she looked up at him again, and then surged to her feet without his help. Her face was an open book. He could see her distress, followed by her resignation and a determination to move on, all written on her face in big letters.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, her gaze going to the hat he still held. “There’s a prayer shelter a few blocks away that will let us in.”

Malachai raised his eyebrows, his interest dimming further. “Is that your preferred shelter? Trusting the angels to preserve you?”

Her eyes darkened and her mouth tightened. She shook her head impatiently. “No, it’s not. But it’s better than nothing.”

“I’m better than nothing, too.” He waved his free hand, the hand he’d dissolved the stormhound with, and watched with satisfaction as the entirety of recent events caught up with her. Even if she wasn’t _interesting_ , the transparency of her face at least made her entertaining.

She blinked at his hand, looked around and up at the sky, back at him, and then put her hand to her mouth. “What happened to the wind? And the stormhound?”

He beamed. “Come on, let’s get indoors and we can talk.”

He flapped her hat generally and then, wrapping his hand around her arm, he towed her over to the nearest storefront: a thrift shop. When she yanked on her arm, he promptly released her.

“Everything’s closed!” she protested. But she didn’t run away, even when he handed her hat back to her.

He smiled to himself and studied the electronic lock sealing the shop. Then he pulled out one of the devices he’d borrowed from the Red Queen’s workshop.

When a moment later he opened the shop door and gestured the girl in, she stared at him, as cautious as a stray cat. “But—”

Widening his eyes at her, he said reassuringly, “Oh, I’m not a thief, miss. I can keep the stormhounds away, but it’s still dangerous to be outside right now.”

Once again, she looked around and then back to him. He let her come to a decision at her own speed, covertly studying her appearance. The knot she wore her fair hair in had come almost entirely undone and now it floated around around her face in the wash from the wind. She was of average height and build, but there was a delicacy in the expressiveness of her eyes that fascinated him.

Finally, she cautiously stepped inside the shop, murmuring, “I suppose it’s no more dangerous inside than out…”

He followed her in and then closed and secured the door again. The only lighting within was from a few emergency strips and, incongruously, a drink vending machine in the corner. Tables and lamps filled the front of the store, but further in the back, he spotted seating.

“Come this way, Miss. There’s no point in just standing around next to shuttered windows.” She followed him with a sort of shocked fascination that delighted him, allowing him to seat her in one of a pair of plushly upholstered armchairs. She even accepted a can of juice he purchased from the vending machine, looking adorably flustered.

Then, because he could never resist pushing his luck, he borrowed a packaged blanket from a shelf and gave her that too.

“It’ll be fine,” he said, grinning at her wary gaze as she clutched the blanket. “I’ll pay for things. You see?” He waved his wallet at her and then made a show of putting it on the shop’s counter.

The heat in the shop had vanished with the lights; it was definitely chilly after he’d let all the residual heat out into the storm. Her gaze went vague and distant for a moment, as if contemplating something she’d lost. Then she sighed and opened the blanket.

“Thank you.”

Malachai settled himself in the other chair. “It’s the least I could do after losing your case like that. What’s your name, miss?”

“Piper Jones,” she murmured, spreading the blanket over her knees, then pulling them to her chest and peering at him appraisingly.

He rather enjoyed her inspection, resisting the desire to preen. He knew exactly how unthreatening he looked: boyish, open-faced, honest. That she still regarded him with suspicion pleased him very much.

He always liked a challenge.

“And who are you?” she asked, as if planning to memorize it for the eventual police report.

“Malachai Beckett, miss. I work for a local research institute.”

Her eyebrows went up in outright skepticism. “As a researcher?”

“No no. I’m in marketing,” he said promptly.

“Oh.” Her face cleared. “That seems about right. But—” She frowned again. “What about what you did outside, with the stormhounds?”

Obligingly, he showed her the convincingly faked Warp marking on his inner forearm. “My abilities are actually useful.”

She stared down at his arm before her gaze went to her own arm and the vivid purple design that encircled her whole wrist. But when she raised her eyes to his, they were almost fever-bright. “Congratulations.”

“I know,” he said apologetically. “It’s very unfair of me.”

“No, no,” she insisted. “I’ve met a few others who could do something more than receive. It always makes me hopeful for everyone else.”

Technically that was true, even if he’d deceived her as to the reason he represented hope for the Warped. “What’s your sensitivity, Miss?”

Piper gave him a wry smile. “Nothing.”

He didn’t have to pretend his surprise. “Eh? Nothing? How’s that?”

As far as he knew—and he’d looked into the subject extensively—everybody with a Warp marking was sensitive to _some_ element of the surrounding world, ranging from _fire_ to _sticky tape_. Each of them was constantly psychically aware of their element, not just its presence but its _needs_ , for lack of a better word. Very few of them made the leap to psychic _manipulation_ of their element.

Not that Beckett cared. As far as he was concerned, the elemental affinity of a Warp was secondary to its true usefulness.

“Yes, you see, I’m lucky too.” The smile she gave him was tinted with bitterness.

He squinted at her. “It must be something pretty obscure then.”

“Maybe so,” she agreed politely. “Nothing useful like your storm Warp though. Why aren’t you in the SDF? You’d do well there.”

With a laugh, Beckett said, “No, they’d hate me. My banishment doesn’t leave storm crystals behind, see? I don’t really like the idea of the SDF, anyhow.” It was a provocative statement he already suspected her feelings on from how she’d hidden from the troop earlier.

She narrowed her eyes. “You don’t like the idea of protecting people from the stormhounds?”

Gently, he pointed out, “The storm shelters already do that. The SDF is just the government paying those with Warps not to overwhelm them, rather than going to the expense of building suitable shelters for them.”

“But storm crystals—” she began. It was propaganda, he knew it, _she_ knew it, and it irritated him that she parroted it anyhow. Was her government _worthy_ of that trust? No more than he was, and at least he was genuinely interested in her well-being.

Sharply, he said, “They have other ways of getting all the storm crystals they need.”

A deep peal of ghost-thunder vibrated through the shop, setting glass and ceramic table tamps to chiming. She flinched and burrowed deeper into her chair, her eyes closing. “I’ve heard that.”

“It’s true,” he assured her, and her eyes opened again.

“So many of the Warped feel useless, though,” she said earnestly. “It’s good to have a way to contribute… for those that can handle the culture, though.”

With a flickering, brilliant smile, he said, “But there are so many other things we can do.”

“You, maybe,” she said doubtfully.

“Oh, come on, Miss Jones. You’re more than a warm body. What was in that case I so shamefully failed to save?” He eyed the hat he did rescue, back on her head again. It shaded her face but somehow didn’t take away from the brightness of her eyes.

“It was a portfolio of my work. I was on my way home from a job interview.”She twisted her hands in the blanket. “Not a very good one, I’m afraid. But all the actual materials were stored online so I can recover them.”

“And the tablet?” he asked pleasantly. When she looked down without answering, he added, “Tell me what you do in a little more detail.”

Not that it mattered. He already had a position in mind for her and her prior experience did not matter, only her sweetness of temper and the presence of her Warp.

Her voice muffled behind her knees, she said, “I design and build gardens.”

He was sure that she probably interviewed better than this in a formal situation. On the other hand, she amused him this way, as a pair of bright blue eyes peeping between her knees and her hat.

“Did you get into college?” he asked casually, estimating her age at just past the point where the government would cover most college educations.

Her marked hand flexed in the blanket. “No. Even my grandmother’s connections didn’t—no.” She cut herself off. “Nobody to buy my way in when they rejected me because of my Warp. What about you? I bet you were already in college when the Incident happened?”

He spent a split-second deciding between acting the age his paperwork said he was, and letting her mildly insulting assumption slide to keep the focus on herself. In the end, habit won.

Laughing in embarrassment, he said, “Ahaha, I’m not _that_ old, Miss. But I did get in before they started worrying about Warps and godstorms. I studied literature, like an idiot.”

“And now you’re a salesman for a research institute.”

“And you’re a garden designer despite your lack of educational credentials. How did you come by your skills?”

Piper straightened up, letting the blanket fall to her lap and opening the juice he’d bought her finally. “I had an apprenticeship. Nothing formal. For a while I was getting temporary contracts from her client list after she retired. Those dried up a while ago, though.”

Beckett nodded slowly. “I see, I see. That’s solid experience. And you’re getting interviews?”

“Interviews but not jobs.” She shrugged. “There’s a lot of people looking for work these days. I’m healthy, at least. I’ll be all right.”

“I’m sure you will be,” he said, giving her his most charming smile. And she would be. He’d make sure of that. Even after he grew bored with them, Malachai Beckett took care of his toys.

He fished out his phone from a pocket and said, “All this talk of jobs has reminded me I have some work of my own I should get done. Reports and so on. You don’t mind, do you?”

As far as Beckett was normally concerned, reports were something other people wrote. But he sometimes found them useful as props, just often enough that his boss cherished a truly hilarious hope that one day he’d be consistent about them.

“Of course not.” She finished her juice and then stood up, stretching and looking around. He watched over the shield of his phone as she wandered over to the vending machine to recycle the can, and then investigated some of the lamps.

“It’d be best if you didn’t stray too far away from me, miss,” he called. “The stormhounds will avoid me, but if they decide they can get to you before I do… well, they’re not very smart.”

That brought her hurrying back to him. She stood behind her own chair for a moment, fingering her hat thoughtfully. When she took off her coat, she revealed the white button-down over black slacks she wore beneath. Then she draped the coat over the back of the armchair, placed her hat on top, and settled herself in the chair once more.

“I’m probably going to fall asleep,” she told him as she tugged the blanket over her again. She had an enchanting little self-conscious smile. “I don’t think I snore, though.”

“I wouldn’t notice if you did, Miss Jones.” He tilted his head, listening to the sound of the howling wind. “Sleep well.”


	3. Chapter 3

The Sammael Incident began with a burst of light and unusual weather conditions over an otherwise unremarkable bit of deep sea. The nearby advanced oceanography research vessel _Michiru_ was dispatched for closer observation. What they encountered was the first godstorm. Every surviving crew member returned Warped.

***

Piper Jones dreamt of bloody light and crimson eyes. In the dream, she was surrounded by faces she knew as they changed, became transfigured, and in her arms, her grandmother died.

It was a tired old nightmare, one she dreamt almost every godstorm. She barely woke up for it anymore, and in the mornings the texture of the dream was no more uncomfortable than the unbrushed taste of her mouth. It was a memory: more visceral than most, but no more relevant to the here and now than any other memory.

This time, unlike any other time, a hand gently stroked her hair and the dream stuttered and vanished. When he lifted his hand, the dream surged again: Sammael’s eyes wilder, more vivid, and the angular red tattoos flowing across his body.

Piper squirmed and, still asleep, tried to catch the hand again. She encountered something and pulled it against her face: a buttoned cuff. But his fingers tickled her ear enough that she partially woke up.

The storm still sang outside, but Beckett was crouched behind her armchair with that boyish smile she was sure hid something real. Half-asleep, she held his hand against her face and studied him. He was uncannily attractive, with wavy dark hair and friendly brown eyes. He wasn’t so big as to be intimidating, but he wasn’t scrawny, either. She definitely liked what she saw.

It was a pity he was probably a liar.

But his hand felt warm and she didn’t even have the nasty aftertaste of the dream in her mind.

“Do you dream of Sammael, too?” he asked softly.

Many of the Warped did, in some way or another: maybe just a flash of bloody light, maybe the curve of his unreal wings, or maybe what they were doing that day he appeared and changed the world. It was the other reason so many Warped were drawn to the prayer shelters.

Sleepily, Piper told Beckett, “I was there, you know. I saw him for real.”

It wasn’t something she mentioned often, and certainly not to chance-met strangers. But even if it was a lie, Beckett had a nice smile. It disarmed her and made her want to talk to him, so she’d see it again.

“Did you?” he said, with just the perfect note of interested surprise to keep her talking. She recognized it and smiled at him.

“Tricky man.” She brushed her fingers across his mouth and shifted her grip on his other hand so that she clasped it normally as she leaned toward him. “I was on board the _Michiru._ Unofficially. They wanted my grandmother so they squeezed me in.” She yawned and her eyes drifted closed. “Bad luck for both of us.”

His hand squeezed hers. “I’m sorry.”

She opened one eye to look at him. “You mean that?”

“Of course I do. I’m not a monster.”

“Hah,” she said. “But angels are. That’s… the real reason I hate the prayer shelters, you know. It’s not that I don’t believe in angels. I _saw_ Sammael. I just hate them.”

With a tilt of his head, he said, “Do you really hate anything, I wonder?”

She chuckled in acknowledgement of his guess at her character. “Not much. But Sammael… or whoever sent him… I hate them. They hurt the world too much.”

“Well,” he said dryly. “Good to know you have some standards. Can you go back to sleep? I think you’re still halfway there.”

“Yeah,” she said, and then, “Wait! Don’t go? You made the dream go away. It was nice.” She scooched into the far corner of the armchair and pulled him toward her. “You can sit here. There’s room.”

He glanced at the narrow space beside her and gave her an exasperated look.

“Plenty of room,” she insisted. In her half-awake mental space, she felt he owed this to her, after all his tricky smiles of before. “I won’t take advantage or anything. I just want to sleep without bad dreams. It’s better than sitting on the floor holding my hand, isn’t it?”

“Infinitely.” With a sigh, he stood up and then rearranged them so she sat sideways across him. “How’s this?”

Piper beamed at him. “Perfect.” Then she nestled her head against his shoulder and almost immediately drifted off once more, into a pleasantly dreamless sleep.

When she woke up again, she was far less comfortable: her mouth tasted awful, her arm was asleep, and she needed a bathroom. Her comfy dream-repelling bedding had also left her.

In fact, her alarm had been the sound of him wrangling with the irate shop owner. Morning light filtered in from the unshuttered windows, the power was on, and the thrift store owner was not pleased to find that some of his merchandise had been commandeered.

Dreading being pulled into the discussion and curious how far Beckett would go to handle the situation, she closed her eyes as if still asleep. But doing so recalled to mind her midnight wakeup and how she’d practically forced a total stranger to cuddle with her.

“Fuck,” she said aloud, her embarrassment making it impossible for her to even pretend to sleep.

“And now she’s awake. Well done,” said Beckett, as if disappointed in the store owner. She wondered if he knew that his own delight in his playacting kept giving his game away.

But perhaps it didn’t for people like the shopkeeper. He was focused on his possibly-damaged merchandise, not the character of the person who had damaged it.

The elderly shopkeeper was expounding on the costs of having potentially _everything_ in the shop cleaned again, since one could never know what depravities vandals like Beckett and herself tended toward. He’d already called the authorities and—

Piper’s shoulders hunched and she got out of the chair. She sympathized with the man, but getting the police involved wouldn’t get a cleaning paid for, just his merchandise taken away as evidence. She was just working herself up to interrupting Beckett’s acerbic critique of the accommodations with an offer of physical labor when Beckett did something that surprised her.

He opened his wallet and _bought_ the two chairs, the blanket, and also a hatstand Piper hadn’t even noticed in the gloom of the storm the night before. Then he wrote out instructions for the old man for where to deliver the chairs and hatstand before coming over to where Piper stood awkwardly.

Picking up the blanket and held it out to her. “I’ll keep the chairs, but you keep the blanket, eh?”

Blankly, she began to fold her new possession. It was just a secondhand quilt in a basic block pattern, but she certainly wasn’t going to refuse it, not when he already had the labor of trying to find something to do with the chairs as well.

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Jones—” he began.

She blushed so hotly her hair should have scorched and clutched the blanket to her chest. “What happened last night—I’m not normally like that, it was just a fluke, I’m so sorry, I’m _really_ not like that, though!”

His eyes glinted before widening almost comically as he waved both his hands. “What? Last night—? Oh! Oh, no, no nono. Don’t let that bother you. Just a moment in a storm. I wasn’t even thinking of that, honest. I wanted to talk to you about a job. A _garden_ related job.”

“What?” She stared at him until he took the blanket from her and folded it himself.

“I said I worked for a research institute, right? It’s actually off shore some distance, and it has several gardens that our administrator is always complaining about. If you’d send me the digital version of your portfolio, I could pass it to the right people.” He presented a neatly folded blanket to her, beaming.

“That’s… very kind of you,” she said slowly, her mind racing through various possibilities. “What’s the name of your institute?”

“The Center for Advanced Storm Studies,” he said glibly, and tucked a card into her coat pocket as he picked it up. “We all call it the Ark, though.”

“You study godstorms?”

Wryly, he said, “Everybody studies godstorms now, Miss. But yes. Among other things. Send me your portfolio and I’ll see about getting you an on-location interview!”

***

Piper went back to her public housing flat short a tablet and a portfolio case, but with a new quilt and a lot to think about. The streets had already been cleaned of most of the random debris left by a storm, but the air still had the tingle she associated with the infusion of godstorm energies.

She avoided the public news broadcasts as she rode the tram home, because the stories of stormhound encounters, injuries and fatalities always depressed her.

Once at her apartment building, she checked in with the security guard and was allowed to return to her flat. The only real security the guard provided was making sure nobody unapproved was taking advantage of the public housing, and making sure nobody tried to ride out a godstorm at home. But she appreciated that. Too many of her neighbors would have chosen to tempt fate at home if they’d been allowed to do so, and she’d seen more than one of them move onto better things they certainly couldn’t have achieved dead.

She nodded to several of her neighbors, happy, as they were, to see the other had survived the storm. The building was mostly Warped at this point—not through any official zoning choice, but simply via a sort of accumulation.

She’d seen so many neighbors come and go in the past few years. She was practically a senior citizen in terms of the length of her residency. Once upon a time, she’d gone out of her way to meet and befriend them, but lately she’d been unable to force herself to do more than match names to faces she smiled at on the stairs.

Her dingy studio apartment was noticeably brightened by the quilt she spread over her little bed in the corner. She inspected it, caught between doubt and pleasure, before making herself some dried noodles and settling down at her old computer to do some research on Beckett’s Ark.

She found its webpage almost immediately. It was a limited affair with some vague text about the Center’s mission and some contact information. She scrolled through a gallery ofimages of white corridors and steel labs that she suspected of being stock photos. But none of that really proved or disproved anything; she’d seen other, similarly reserved websites before.

Sighing, she rubbed her temples, trying to see past the gut-level suspicions Beckett had triggered in her. She preferred to see the best in people, but the world required some cynicism, too. From the moment Malachai Beckett had gestured her into the store he’d mysteriously unlocked, she’d known he required every bit of cynicism she’d acquired.

And yet he’d saved her grandmother’s hat. For all that his body language struck her as incongruous with the glints in his eyes, he’d done nothing at all to earn her poor judgement. He’d paid for the chairs, which couldn’t have been cheap given that it had also been a bribe to keep the storekeeper from reporting them. He’d been kind to her without asking anything in return, except for her portfolio.

In her heart, Piper knew she wasn’t worth that degree of deceit from a bad man. It didn’t make him a good man, but it suggested he wasn’t simply lying about everything. He probably did have a job for her, and it probably paid pretty well.

Besides… what were her other options for escaping this life she’d been clinging? She glanced around her apartment again, looking at what she’d managed to accumulate over the past ten years. Some expensive picture books on plants and gardens. A few certificates from specialized courses she’d managed to take. Her grandmother’s hat, and some crew photos from the _Michiru_ where she’d been the photographer. A letter from one of her grandmother’s old friends apologizing for not being able to swing her admission to his college. She cried every time she read it.

It was depressingly clear that she hadn’t accumulated much more than the suitcase of belongings she’d had when she came to the flat from the group home she’d been in before. Six years of life and all she’d accomplished was… losing. Losing people. Losing trust. Losing hope for her future.

Her grandmother would be so sad knowing that.

Tears pricked at Piper’s eyes but she wiped them away, starting up the process of assembling a portfolio package for the Center for Advanced Storm Studies. It was only an interview. Interviews were about taking chances. How often had she wished an employer would take a chance on _her?_

_Besides, he has a nice smile_ , she thought later as she curled on her bed under the blanket he’d given her. The blanket they’d been under together, when she’d commandeered him as her teddy bear. He’d had every opportunity to do whatever he wanted to her already.

And she finally had to admit, even later that night in the dark, that part of her kind of _wished_ he’d taken advantage of the situation. It was far too easy to imagine his hand sliding under her shirt as she unzipped his pants. Far too exciting to imagine his whispered encouragement as she took him in her mouth, as he stroked down her ass to in between her legs.

Better as a fantasy, though. She could hardly have an interview otherwise.


	4. Chapter 4

Two days later, following surprisingly terse instructions from Beckett, Piper packed much of her life into a suitcase once more and went to the airport. She’d told her neighbors where she was going as a nod to social norms, even though she was pretty sure the only consequence of her unexpected disappearance would be somebody from a waiting list getting a cheap place to live.

She knew what she was doing wasn’t _smart_ , maybe wasn’t even _safe_. But she’d tried so hard to make the smart choices in the past, and so she’d stayed safe in that flat, far longer than anybody else she knew. Piper had a vivid imagination and so she could imagine all sorts of terrible fates awaiting her… but she also had to admit to herself that they were the exact same fates that awaited her one day when she got caught in a godstorm and finally decided to sell herself to a dark shelter in exchange for never being caught outside again.

Besides, a vivid imagination went both ways. She could just as easily imagine a dozen scenarios that worked out well for her.

Funnily enough, not one of them had Malachai turning out to be a decent, trustworthy guy.

He smiled when he saw her at the meeting point he’d arranged in the terminal, but his greeting was entirely professional. “Ready to go? Then come with me.”

They walked to the private gates, which Piper had been expecting for visiting an offshore research station. But she did _not_ expect the hoverjet waiting on the runway. She’d never even _seen_ such a thing except in the movies. It didn’t look quite like any of those designs, but the structure of the wings was distinctive.

This one had a more bulbous back end, currently open to reveal a number of large gray crates. Malachai went to look in the compartment before slapping the button to close the doors. “General supplies,” he said cheerfully. “We get on board here.”

The passenger compartment of the jet was more utilitarian than she expected, with the seats as long sofas parallel to the cabin walls, like in a military transport. But the plus seats were far more comfortable than military transports ever looked to be, and as Malachai then demonstrated, they also rotated perpendicular to the wall to make cozy little nooks.

He made sure she was buckled in and then said, “I’m going to go check in the cockpit. We should be leaving very soon.”

After a time of staring out of her window, watching the ocean pass hypnotically below, she startled and realized they’d been traveling much longer than she’d anticipated.

Malachai looked up from his book as soon as she looked away from the window as if waiting for her. But instead of saying anything, he only smiled at her over its pages.

More out of a morbid curiosity for how he’d answer rather than true worry, she said, “Didn’t you say the Ark was an offshore facility?”

Closing his book over one finger, he waggled the other in a considering kind of way. “Very offshore?” The look he then gave her she could only describe as _hopeful,_ as of a dog presenting a stick for approval.

Exasperated, she asked, “Do you lie for _fun_ , Mr. Beckett?”

He widened his eyes, tilting his head. But then instead of making the expected shocked denial, he dropped the attitude and grinned. “You’re so straightforward. I should have expected that based on the way you ordered me into your bed during the storm.”

“Chair!” she corrected sharply. When his smile only broadened, she added, “This is a base attempt to throw me off my balance, and it won’t work. Besides, didn’t you say you weren’t going to think about that?”

Very gently, as if letting down a child, he said, “But Piper… I lied.”

She bit her lip to stifle laughter, and when he grinned in response, she had to cover her mouth and pretend she was coughing into her hands. When she peeked up at his expression, he wore such a look of ludicrous concern that she curled around her hands again. The next time she emerged, he was grinning in such unrepentant joy that she stopped even pretending to hide her laughter, kicking her feet on the floor and tilting her head back against the window.

“You seem jubilant, Miss Jones,” he said cheerfully.

“Do I?” Piper wiped at her eyes. “Maybe I am. It’s nice to feel excited instead of scared for once.” A pang of something bittersweet went through her. “I thought it was because all my options were bad, but it turns out it’s just because I didn’t like any of them.” She gave him a teasing smile, which he met with one of his own. Then she added, “But seriously, where are we really going?”

His small smile faded as if forgotten and he said, “The Ark. It’s a research institute. You’ll see.” He gave her a penetrating look, and then, almost as if irritated, asked, “How can you ask that and still laugh like you did?”

She glanced at him skeptically, because the question felt like bait. Yet there wasn’t anything lighthearted on his face, so she said, “Because the Ark could be good and it’s just you who’s bad. Okay, my turn!” She hurried as his eyebrows drew together. “Did you _really_ expect me to buy your story as completely on the level?”

He gave her a long, thoughtful look before saying, “Maybe not.” His gaze went over her shoulder out the window and he added, “Let’s pick this up again later. I’m going to check something in the cockpit.”

At first, Piper thought she’d driven him into retreat. Then she glanced out the window herself and almost fell out of her seat. A bank of deep blue clouds with a pink distortion near the center loomed in the close distance, like a silent nightmare.

“Mr. Beckett?” she called, her reckless good humor _and_ her distrust both forgotten in her sudden need for encouraging lies. When he emerged from the cockpit, she said, “Why are we flying into a godstorm?”

His eyes darkened and he pulled his mouth to one side. “We’re not. But it’s flying toward us as we hold position. It’s between us and our destination, you see. It’s quite possible it intends on staying there, too.” Then, finally, he gave her the reassuring smile she’d been hoping for. “Don’t worry. We have the resources to deal with this. Give me a few minutes.”

With a nod, he went back into the cockpit, only to pop his head out a moment later. “Oh, if a man in black shows up, he’s expected. Don’t scream or anything.”

The statement didn’t make sense to Piper, so she decided he must have been speaking metaphorically about some kind of air support. But seeing the godstorm flow closer and closer was hard for her and she happened to be looking away when the man in black walked through the door from the cargo cabin.

He wore a hat a little like her own (except black) and what seemed like flames (black) surrounded him. Even so she could make out his sloppy black suit over the unexpectedly white shirt.

His hair was white, too, which somehow confused her more than all the rest. His golden eyes skimmed over her coldly before he stalked past her and into the cockpit. Only after he was gone did she find herself questioning whether he’d actually opened any doors on his passage through the cabin.  
  


Unbuckling herself, she surged to her feet and strode to the cockpit door where she knocked frantically. It opened abruptly and she fell inward, toward black flames. Then a warm arm caught her and Malachai pulled her toward him, his arm around her waist.

Piper blinked frantically, her extreme consciousness of the physical contact overwhelming her awareness of her surroundings. His fingers pressed against her hip and the length of his body seemed like a tingling bar of heat against her own. Explosively, she pushed him away and looked around wildly.

The man in black leaned against the console, regarding her impassively, while Malachai had a faint, pained smile. They were the only ones in the cockpit, which made a small part of Piper wonder about the pilot. Mostly, though, she stared at the man in black.

“You’re real!”

“Piper, this is Dantalion, and yes, he’s very real,” said Malachai. He smiled but she could sense the irritation under it. “Is there any chance I can convince you to go buckle in again?”

Nervously, staring at the black aura flickering around Dantalion, Piper said, “There’s seatbelts here and nobody’s using them.”

“That’s fine,” said Dantalion, in a deep, flat voice.

Malachai sighed. “Sure, fine, fine.” Then, as Piper scrambled into one of the jump seats, he said, apparently to Dantalion, “And I suppose that’s your winning play, Your Majesty?”

A richly feminine voice from a speaker said, “The situation is too strange, Beckett. You made your bed and now you have to lie in it.”

“Our remote pilot,” said Malachai to Piper by way of introduction. ”Perhaps you’ll meet her later.”

“What are we going to do?” asked Piper anxiously.

“Well, we’re apparently going to play chicken with a godstorm,” he said bitterly. “For _research._ No big deal.”

Dantalion straightened up. “How unusual, Malachai. You’re usually the biggest proponent of all of us for brinkmanship.”

“Oh, hush,” said Malachai, throwing himself into the pilot’s seat closest to Piper. “Go make yourself useful somewhere not here.”

Dantalion shrugged, gave Piper a nod, and left through the cockpit door. She watched closely this time and was _almost_ certain he opened the door first. When she looked back at Malachai, he was swiveling the chair back and forth, a brooding expression on his face as the godstorm steadily moved closer.

Hesitantly, Piper said, “I have to admit, this wasn’t on my list of imagined outcomes for the day. We’re really going to fly into a godstorm?”

“There shouldn’t _be_ a godstorm this close to the Ark, Piper Jones,” said the remote pilot. “We need to see how it reacts to Beckett. You should be fine.”

Malachai sighed. “Yes, you’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. I don’t know what I’m worrying over.” He gave her a bright smile. “I think _you_ put _me_ off my balance, Miss Jones.”

Piper marveled at his sheer effrontery. The idea that she was more nerve-inducing than a godstorm was a ridiculous degree of flattery. But—“I thought I had, you know. When you suddenly ran away to the cockpit.”

His smile softened. “It was a conveniently timed godstorm in that regard, I admit.”

The wall of the godstorm slowly filled the sky, with the afternoon sun gilding each swirl and billow of supernatural cloud. Just at the edge of her hearing, Piper heard a rumble, and imagined a howl. “Um, are there storm hounds inside the godstorm cloud?”

“If we don’t swerve soon, you’ll find out,” said Malachai in a mock-cheerful voice as he slouched in his seat.

“Yes, there are,” said the pilot briskly. “But they won’t come through the cabin walls with your escort.”

Piper felt like she could see the cracks in that reassurance, but she could _also_ see a black-burning shadow clinging to the nose of the jet. As Malachai sighed and said, “Here we go,” the shadow sprang into the storm ahead, moving so fast and in such straight lines that it seemed to be ricocheting off the clouds.

Dark blue clouds engulfed the jet. Pink lightning sizzled like a Tesla coil all around them, so constant that it made Piper think the clouds were shattering apart, revealing traces of some fleshy thing beyond. The air in the cabin made her lips tingle when she inhaled, filling her blood with energy. The shadowy force she identified as Dantalion continued to zip around the jet, keeping up with only the occasional bounce off the cabin as his black fire burned away forming storm hounds.

She really had no idea what Dantalion was doing. If that was a Warp ability, it went far past anything she’d ever even heard of before.

“These readings are abnormal, Beckett,” said the pilot. “But your ability is working as expected. …Mal?”

Piper realized Malachai had stood again, and wore a strained expression. His eyes were almost closed. Without conscious thought, Piper unbuckled herself once more and moved to where she could support him if he lose his balance. “Mr. Beckett, are you all right?”

He reached out and stroked her hair away from her face, his eyes still mostly closed. “This isn’t a godstorm, Your Majesty.” His hand slid around Piper’s head toward her neck. Instead of shying away, she leaned toward him, putting an arm around his waist. Then he was tugging her into his arms, pressing her body against his. The tingle in the air vanished from her lips and blood as he pushed his nose into her hair. After inhaling, he raised his head enough to say, “It’s a vestibule for an incarnarium.”

_Technical language_ , thought Piper, and didn’t bother to try and follow the conversation. She was just aware that she’d meant to simply offer support to her acquaintance, her fellow Warped, in this time of trial. But the way he held her, one hand on her neck, one hand on her back, scattered all her thoughts. It felt like he was trying to protect _her…_ and all she could do was remember cuddling with him in the armchair, and her later fantasies.

“That’s bad, Mal,” said the pilot. “Are you sure?”

Malachai gave a muffled laugh. “I feel like I’m being crushed from all directions at once. Yeah, I’m sure.”

Looking out the front window as Malachai’s fingers stroked through her hair from underneath, she watched as the pink lightning started chaining together to form geometric designs that were sickeningly familiar to the Warp marks. Deep in a hollow of the storm off to right, several geometric designs layered themselves on top of each other, forming something that reminded Piper of a closed eye. The shadow of Dantalion hovered near the eye, black tendrils lashing around him. She didn’t know what he was doing, but it didn’t seem to slow down the growth of the eye at all. As the complexity of the design increased, she became dreadfully certain that when the eye opened, something terrible would occur.

“Malachai,” she whispered, and the technical conversation going on over her head stopped.

His hand left her neck, settling on her hip in a more neutral embrace. “We’ll be out of this soon, Miss Jones. But feel free to keep clinging to me—”

Directly ahead of them—

—the storm’s eye was a joke in comparison, nothing but an enigma—

_right ahead of them_

The deep blue clouds turned purple and then shattered under an onslaught of bloody light.

A pair of red eyes

Sammael had _red eyes_

_and he was right there, looking at her._

Piper remembered the first time she’d seen the creature, the entity, the _angel_ called Sammael. She _knew_ that was what he was called, because he had _told_ _her_ , the last time he’d looked at her. He’d screamed into her mind, as he’d screamed into the minds of everybody Warped by his first appearance. Her grandmother hadn’t survived the experience. The camaraderie of the crew had died that day too.

She’d been Warped too, but the only evidence other than her mark was the name _Sammael_ on her lips, as if she’d been speaking in tongues. He’d appeared, he’d changed the world, _hurt_ the world, unleashed the godstorms… and then he’d vanished again. There’d been rumors and legends since then, but no recorded, confirmed sightings. What he was and what he’d done was a mystery the world was still grappling with ten years later.

And now _there he was,_ hovering in front of the jet with his wings of blood and bone, and those terrifying scarlet eyes, looking directly at Piper.

“Son of a _bitch!”_ said Malachai, and moved her so he blocked line of sight between Sammael and herself. The last thing she saw before Malachai’s shoulder eclipsed the view was Dantalion’s darkness diving toward Sammael.

A sudden unpleasant suspicion surfaced as to what Dantalion was, and then sank again as she focused on Malachai’s expressive face. “That was _Sammael_.”

“Yes,” said Malachai sardonically. “An unexpected second course in this feast of delights.”

Piper’s fingers curled into his shirt front. “He was _looking at me_.”

“Yes,” agreed Malachai again, but this time nothing more. His hand pressed into her hip, though, and his eyes remained fixed on her face. She stared up at him, her gaze narrowing in on the curve of his lower lip.

Feeling lightheaded at the events of the day so far, and very much not wanting to think about _Sammael, just outside,_ she stood on her toes and brushed her lips over Malachai’s.

His arms tightened, pulling her close as he responded to her light kiss with one of his own. When she pressed harder against him, opening her mouth, he responded with ready but gentle interest, as if they weren’t standing on the cockpit of a jet flying toward the Angel of Destruction. She shuddered and pushed herself against him. His tongue flicked over hers and she felt a smile curve his mouth.

“All right,” said the pilot. “Get ready—ah, I see you’re already attending to your business, Mal.”

Piper instinctively tried to pull away, but Malachai murmured, “Not yet,” and caught her head, running his thumb along her jaw as his kiss became more demanding. She had just a moment for a spike of nervousness over what she’d brought onto herself and then he pulled away from her entirely, save for a gentle hand on her lower back.

She stared up at his amused smile and then flushed. “I’m sorry. That was just…a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “What happens in godstorms stays in godstorms? Well, thank God I’m safe now.” He waved with his free hand at the view beyond.

She blinked in the wash of golden sunshine. Puffy white clouds filled the space below them and dotted the blue sky above them. The godstorm was utterly gone. From the corner of her eye, she kept seeing the sparkle of rainbows. And below them, coming closer as the plane descended, was a small mountain with its base in clouds, with a large manmade structure built into it.

“The Ark,” murmured Malachai. “I hope you’ll like it here.”

The pilot brought them in for a landing on a runway jutting out of the structure. Dazed, Piper followed Malachai back to the passenger suite and only remembered when he pulled her suitcase from storage that she’d left that morning for a _job interview_.

Did a place like this really need a gardener? Not one like her, certainly. This was a place for special people, people with Warps that were actually useful. Malachai was still playing some game she hadn’t guessed at yet.

She stepped off the aircraft steps and looked out the hanger doors at that dazzling sky, dancing with peripheral rainbows. Well, they were here now. Maybe he’d finally tell her the truth.

“Mr. Beckett—” she began.

“How is _nobody_ here?” he demanded of said nobody, his fists on his hips. “Your Majesty? Ana? _Anybody?_ Just because Sammael pokes his head out again—” He shook his own head in apparent disgust. A figure hurried past the interior doors of the hanger and he said, “Oy! Is that—Rain! C’mere!”

Slowly a figure grudgingly reappeared in the open space and then, dragging her feet, approached them. It was a young woman, somewhere around Piper’s age, with tousled dark hair, a pixie’s face and a sullen expression.

“Hey, Rain,” said Beckett brightly. “This is Piper. Can you take care of her while I arrange her introduction to Alice?”

Piper’s shoulders hunched, but the look Rain gave her was surprisingly sympathetic. “What do you want me to do with her?”

Beckett flapped a hand vaguely. “Find her a room. Show her the gardens. Introduce her to Anahel if you must. Hopefully this incarnarium-Sammael nonsense won’t slow things down.”

“Why the hurry?” asked Rain. “As if I couldn’t guess.”

“Everybody knows you’re a sweetheart under that crusty exterior, Rain,” Beckett said encouragingly, and then added to Piper, “She really is. You’ll get along. I’ll come find you soon!”

Then he was jogging from the hanger, leaving Piper and Rain alone together.

Rain gave her a long, considering look. Then she shrugged. “Well, come on. You’ll need a room, at least. Anahel can take care of that.”

Dragging her suitcase behind her as she followed Rain, Piper asked, “Who’s Anahel?”

“The Ark’s chief administrator,” said Rain. “She’s all right. They’re mostly not too bad. Except for Beckett. He’s the worst.”

Piper brightened. If random employees of the Ark thought Beckett was bad news, that said very good things about the Ark. Maybe this could work out. “What do you do here? I mean, when Beckett isn’t foisting his chores on you?”

A smile flickered across Rain’s face before vanishing. “I take care of the ordinary data infrastructure.” They emerged from the hanger into a curving white-walled corridor with art prints hung at irregular intervals, and Rain directed Piper to the left.

“And who is… Alice?” The name had flown past while Piper was still processing recent events.

Rain paused, giving Piper a puzzled look. Then she shook her head. “That isn’t a question you should be asking.” She started walking again.

A surge of panic rushed through Piper. She’d just arrived here, in this place that seemed like it could be so wonderful, and she was already screwing it up.Hurriedly, she caught up with her guide. “Did I break some rule? I’m sorry, Beckett hasn’t told me much—”

“Obviously,” said Rain angrily. Then she glanced at Piper and stopped again, her face softening. “You didn’t break any rules, but I’m betting Beckett has. Again. I’m not going to make it worse, though. So new plan, I’m taking you to Beckett’s boss. This way.”


	5. Chapter 5

“No. Absolutely not,” said Raphael, the Ark’s chief medical officer, not pausing in her methodical inspection of some tools. “I’m not going to introduce some random stranger to Alice’s chamber without even a note from Sajan.”

Beckett gave Raphael his best smile, but he knew it was in vain. The woman was completely impervious to every form of charm imaginable. Luckily, he had other tools. “That’s all you need? I’ll make it happen. I just thought we might be in a hurry to activate Ash, what with Sammael flying around just outside Rainbow. Last time I saw him, Dantalion was tangling with him.”

Raphael’s hand froze for a moment before she carefully put down the oximeter she held. “I’m prepared to attend to Dantalion’s injuries.”

“You don’t think we ought to send Ash out to help him?” asked Beckett with what he thought of as _enhanced anxiety_.

The medic gave Beckett a flat look. “Even the best case scenario, what you propose would take far too long to aid Dantalion, if aid he even requires.”

Before Malachai could make another move, a console beeped and she flicked a switch.

“Raphael, is Beckett with you?” It was the hurried voice of the Ark’s Director, Sajan Cardoc. Beckett winced.

Her calm gaze pinning Beckett in place, Raphael said, “Yes he is, Director. Shall I send him to you?”

“Please. Tell him I have his guest with me.” There was an unusual edge in the Director’s voice.

Raphael tilted her head at Beckett and he sighed. “I’ll be right there, Sajan.” He turned to leave the infirmary.

“I hope you’re right about your candidate, though,” said Raphael softly, as Beckett passed through the door.

He paused on the threshold, thinking about his _candidate._ She’d been concerned about _him_ in the godstorm. She’d come to him and held him, as if she could absorb his pain. And when she’d kissed him, her mouth had been gentleness over hunger. Every time he touched her, he could feel how much she _wanted_ , and every time he spoke to her, he could see how much she held herself back. That alone had made the little kiss they’d shared magical.

_I’m right about her Anchor potential_ , he thought wryly. _But I wish I wasn’t._ Despite his hurry to get her Awakened, he wasn’t nearly as excited as he had been to hand her over to Ashmedai. The Ark’s most powerful warrior wouldn’t want to share Piper’s attention, and Beckett couldn’t blame him.

He left the infirmary and went down the hall to Sajan’s office. The door was wide open, and Rain was leaning on the frame with her arms crossed. Though she only wrinkled her nose when she saw him, Beckett could practically hear her singing _Somebody’s in trouble._

“Brat,” he said. “That’s the last time I let you help me out, no matter how much you beg.”

“I’m not here to enable your assholery, Beckett,” she said in a flat voice that made him suspect she was peeved.

“ _Beckett!”_ called Sajan. “Get in here.”

Shaking his head, he went past Rain to face the music.

The Director’s everyday office wasn’t the large official Director’s office. He’d been an ordinary researcher before the Incident and a wartime promotion, and he preferred to do his daily work—which still consisted of quite a bit of research—in the small office where he felt most comfortable.

Therefore, with Piper sitting in the guest chair, Anahel sitting on the corner of the desk, Sajan standing behind the desk, and now Beckett, the room was starting to feel a little crowded. It was a pity Anahel was also here. Poor Piper already looked overwhelmed, hunched and pathetic looking with her legs over her suitcase.

“Well?” demanded Sajan. He was a thin man with darkly tanned skin and shaggy red hair. “You brought us an Anchor candidate who has no idea what she signed up for, Beckett. _Why_?”

Piper raised her head, giving him a surprisingly clear-eyed look. _No…_ he remembered their conversation about his lies on the plane. _Not so surprising… just a little confusing._

“Look,” said Beckett, spreading his hands. “If I didn’t tell her anything and she turned out not to be a match, we could still send her home, right? I mean, everybody always complains about me raising hopes. I thought I’d try it differently this time.”

“A good reason, but not _the_ reason,” said Piper quietly. “What didn’t you tell me?”

Malachai glanced between her and Sajan, surprised. But when Sajan gave him an ironic gesture to answer the girl, he understood that this was the Director’s idea of making him _face consequences_.

It was surprisingly effective.

“Eheheh,” he chuckled uncomfortably and scratched the back of his head. “This and that. A few things. I suppose the most relevant bit for you would be that, ah, most of the Ark employees are angels.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh.” She took a deep breath. “I… suppose I can see why you’d hide that, given what I said.”

“What?” demanded Anahel, speaking for the first time. She shook her blond twin tails angrily. “No, don’t say that. There’s no way you could work here without knowing that. Bringing you here without telling you is practically _press-ganging_ you.” But she subsided when Sajan patted her shoulder.

Earnestly, Piper said, “Well, except for him, you’ve all been very kind. Even… Dantalion is… is an angel? Like Sammael? Even he was nice.”

Anahel blinked. “…Nice? I… don’t believe you. But yes, he’s one of the angels.” She twitched her shoulders and prismatic light glinted behind her. “So am I.”

Piper gave a tremulous smile and said, “I… I wondered if you were, too. You’re so beautiful.”

Anahel’s cheeks turned pink. “Oh, well, that has nothing to do with it. Blame the Red Queen. But I am. An angel, I mean. Um, but not like most people think. You know what? You’re going to need a room. Hey, Rain? Grab her suitcase.” She slid off the corner of the desk and brushed past Malachai. “When Sajan’s done talking to you, you can have a nice rest. And a shower, if you want!”

Then, in a flurry of blonde bunches and prismatic sparkles, she left the office, pulling both Rain and Piper’s suitcase in her wake.

Malachai noticed Piper’s dazzled expression and scowled inwardly. Time to inject some realism into Anahel’s accidental charm. “Hard to believe she’s the same class of entity as Sammael, right?”

That cleared the light from Piper’s eyes, which was exactly what he’d been aiming for. So why did it annoy him even more?

Then she said, “Yes. It makes me… wonder about Sammael again. About what happened… Is that something you know here?”

“What? No!” said Beckett, echoing Anahel before. “I mean, yes and no, but that’s not the issue here. Don’t wonder about Sammael. You hated Sammael last week.”

“Well, I still might,” she said. “I’d kind of like to have some time to think about it.”

“You’ll get it,” said Sajan firmly. “But first, Beckett needs to explain a few more things to you.”

Piper shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “I don’t really like getting other people into trouble, Mr. Cardoc.”

“And you can bet he’s relying on that,” said Sajan. “Beckett, stop rolling your eyes and tell her about Anchors, and why you really brought her here.”

Beckett sighed and nudged the door shut so he could lean against it. “I brought her here because she’s a gardener and Anahel’s always complaining about the problems she has with the gardens. _And_ , yes, also because I’m pretty sure she’s Anchor material.”

“Based on _what_?” demanded Sajan.

After considering Sajan for a moment, Beckett gave him an early version of the truth. “A feeling. Certainly not those tests you make me administer, which haven’t produced a single Anchor yet.”

“They also haven’t produced Ark employees who hate it here,” pointed out Sajan. “So. A feeling.” And he didn’t dismiss it entirely, because Malachai and Sajan went way back, to before he was Beckett and before Sajan was Director. “Go on.”

“Anchors, Miss Jones, are humans with Warps who can attune to an angel, enabling them to leave the vicinity of the Ark and fight godstorms.”

“Like Dantalion?” Piper asked, her gaze intent on him.

He waved a hand. “Dantalion’s special. Most other angels rely on their connection to an Anchor to access the power needed to fight the godstorms and other such things.”

“And you… don’t have any Anchors? Because of bad tests?”

“We have a few,” said Malachai. “None from the current recruitment drive, though.”

Slowly Piper pulled her knees up to her chin. “Who’s Alice?”

Malachai hesitated before answering, exchanging looks with Sajan. Then Sajan said, “How about we tell you about Alice tomorrow, after you’ve had some time to think about what you’ve learned?”

“All right,” she said in a small voice, and Malachai felt an unwelcome pang of sympathy.

“Very well,” said Sajan with a little too much heartiness. “Anahel’s sent me your room information, so I’ll escort you there and get you settled for the evening.” His voice hardened. “Malachai, I forbid you to talk to her again without supervision until this situation is sorted out.”

Beckett shrugged. “Sure, no problem. Hey, is Dantalion back yet? Did you get the report on Sammael’s appearance?”

Sternly, Sajan said, “That is _irrelevant_ to what you’ve done.”

_It’s not_ , thought Beckett, remembering Sammael’s burning gaze fixed on Piper. _But we can talk about that later, sure. After we see what happens when she meets Alice._

***

The room Anahel had assigned Piper was larger than her entire flat, which admittedly wasn’t saying much. But for a research station, the facilities were decidedly lavish. It lacked her flat’s kitchenette, but it had a double bed, a couch and a little two person dining suite, which she thought was interesting. Perhaps couples were sometimes part of the Ark’s staff.

She absently went through her suitcase to make sure nothing had been taken when it vanished with Rain and Anahel. They were both kind people, but that didn’t mean there weren’t rules they had to follow regarding luggage inspections and the like. But if anybody had opened it, they’d left all her belongings intact.

Then, although the Director had picked up some wrapped sandwiches for her from the cafeteria, she pulled out her new quilt and settled on the couch to think. So much had happened that day that she needed to work through.

_As they’d walked down the hall, Piper had addressed the Director, “Can I ask you a question, Mr. Cardoc? About Mr. Beckett?” When he’d nodded, she said, “Why do you keep him around if he causes so much trouble?”_

_The Director’s face softened. “He’s much more than his lies, Miss Jones. Despite his mischief, he’s worth it.”_

It had been a warm and fuzzy thing for the Director to say, so kind and supportive that she felt even more confused about her feelings about her situation.

_Angels_. Beings in some way or another like Sammael… but they _fought_ godstorms rather than making them. In a way, the prayer shelters had been right.

The thought turned her stomach. No, not right. The angels they beseeched for protection were figments of the imagination, cast in the mold of Sammael himself: all burning eyes and bloody wings. While Piper could just see a parallel between black-burning Dantalion and Sammael, with the sparkling, beautiful Anahel there was no comparison.

Piper mused for a while, replaying bits of the day, sifting through them again and again. Some details stuck in her head more than others, and some of those stuck far more than they should. And when a knock came on her door about two hours after she’d been left alone, she was completely unsurprised when Malachai stood on the other side, grinning.

He held a plate of cookies, and he was accompanied by a tall, lean man with dark skin and hair. She stared at them and then went back to her couch, leaving the door open behind her if they wanted to come in.

“Were you sleeping?” inquired Malachai solicitously, accepting the unspoken invitation. “Oh, you brought the blanket, that’s nice. I brought cookies. Homemade!”

“Your home?” she asked, studying the tall man who had followed Malachai into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. He was handsome, in an aquiline way, with the piercing eyes of a warrior.

Making a face, Malachai said, “Well, no. As a matter of fact, our cook Cassiel made them in the cafeteria kitchen, but he practically lives there, soooo…” He shrugged.

Piper transferred her gaze back to him. “So what you said was in _no way_ true.”

“Wrong! They are actually cookies! And they weren’t made in a factory with lots of icky preservatives, which is the _spirit_ of homemade. Try one.”

She frowned. Something was wrong about Malachai’s voice. It was too bright, almost brittle. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know why. So, ignoring the cookie he offered, she said to his companion. “I’m Piper. Did he drag you along?”

His eyebrows went up. When he spoke, his voice was very deep. “Drag? No. But he told me you were here.”

Nervousness coiled in Piper’s stomach. “And that’s interesting to you?”

He came over to crouch at the end of the sofa. “I need a proper Anchor, and he’s _very_ confident in you.” His black eyes flicked over her from head to toe and he smiled, an expression that he seemed to rarely wear.

“Oh. You’re… you’re…” She looked nervously at the space over his shoulders.

He shrugged and she saw glints of moonlight. “One of the angels, yes. My name is Ashmedai.”

“Do you have proper wings?” she blurted. “Like Sammael?”

Ashmedai’s smile faded, but before he could answer, Malachai said, “She saw Sammael ten years ago, Ash. She’s not a fan.”

His mouth twisted in what she guessed was his more natural smile, a wry, self-mocking expression. “I suppose I prefer that to the ones who are. The wings are part of our power rather than part of our bodies, Miss Jones, but for almost all purposes, it’s the same. If it happens that you’re willing and able to Anchor me, you’ll have many opportunities to see for yourself.”

Piper stared at the pattern on her quilt for a long moment. As Ashmedai shifted his weight, she said, “I don’t really know anything about how to do that yet.”

“That’s fine,” said Ashmedai gently. “You don’t need to do or decide anything right now. It may not even be possible. I just didn’t want our first meeting to be in a crowd.”

He started to stand up and she glanced up. “Wait! Will you tell me one thing?”

“If I can.” He settled on his haunches again.

Beyond him, Malachai’s smile had a glassy look. Again, she stopped herself from wondering why.

“Where do you come from? The angels, I mean. You and Sammael and Anahel.”

Ashmedai contemplated her for a moment before saying, “Originally, we were drawn from the void by those who built the Ark and many of its machines.”

Piper pounced breathlessly on a word. “Originally?”

His mouth twisted in that self-mocking smile again. “Before Sammael had his meltdown, very few of us had been incarnated. We spent our time in a virtual space called Wonderland. My memories of the Void are dim, so for me, Wonderland is where I come from. But I know that’s not what you were asking.”

_Alice in Wonderland_ , thought Piper. Something she was content to learn more about tomorrow. She peeked at Ashmedai from the corner of her eye and tried to imagine being any kind of partner to such a figure. An angel.

_Sammael had screamed into her mind, screamed into all their minds, and her grandmother had died._

She shivered. But these angels fought against godstorms. They didn’t condone what Sammael had done.

It didn’t really matter, anyhow. She didn’t have a useful Warp. All she had was a mark. They’d give her whatever test they had to see if she could be an Anchor, she’d fail, and they’d send her back home again.

Unless there really were gardens? Hadn’t Malachai said something—?

Once again, Ashmedai shifted his weight and rose. “You have much to think about tonight, so I’ll let you do that. Thank you for seeing me, Miss Jones.”

He moved past Malachai toward the door, pausing. “Come on, Mal.”

“Hmm?” asked the other man, looking at Piper. Then he pulled his gaze away. “Oh yes. Coming. Enjoy the cookies, Piper.”

As the door closed behind them, Piper focused on the plate of cookies Malachai had left behind. Then, scowling, she rose to her feet for a better look.

Every single one of the cookies had been crumbled to bits. And he’d told her to _enjoy them_. Was he annoyed with her that he’d been called on the carpet? She couldn’t imagine why else he’d do something so petty. She reached for the plate to dump the crumbs in the trash.

Then she remembered his odd, brittle cheer, and stopped. Instead she picked up one of the two sandwiches Sajan had acquired for her and made herself eat it. And when the knock came on her door again, she only _thought_ about locking it.

Instead she opened it and regarded Malachai once again on her doorstep. This time he was alone. He gave her a crooked smile that felt far more natural than his earlier expression. “It occurred to me that leaving that plate of crumbs was wrong of me, so I came to get it.”

“Very wrong,” Piper said severely. “Why did you do it?”

Instead of answering, he merely said, “Can I come in?”

She hesitated and then stepped aside. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, the latch clicking in the silence as she stared at him and he met her gaze.

Finally, she said, “It’s very frustrating to know that I can’t trust _anything_ you say.”

“I don’t see why,” he said reasonably. “I haven’t successfully fooled you yet.”

“And you think I can _trust_ that?” she asked, incredulous.

He went to the table with the plate of cookies, rubbed the sandwich wrapper between his fingers and then stirred the cookie crumbs. “I didn’t actually intend to crush them when I brought them, you know. But I found I’d broken a few and then it seemed like a good excuse to come back later.” He glanced up at her. “Now I’m trying to remember if I’ve told you any direct lies.”

Furiously, Piper said, “ _Off-shore.”_

He smiled at her and waggled a hand. “Very off-shore.”

And she couldn’t maintain her annoyance in the face of that memory. Instead she threw up her hands. “It’s not like I insist on the truth from everyone I meet. People lie to me all the time, I’m sure.”

“But you always know?” he asked, looking down at the cookie crumbs again.

“What? No, I don’t.” She winced at some memories. “I definitely don’t. I don’t have any mystic truth-detection powers, Mr. Beckett.”

“I was thinking a Warp sensitivity, myself,” he suggested casually.

She frowned, and then shook her head. “That can’t work. Truth isn’t… an absolute thing. It doesn’t have an independent existence. People can lie by accident, or via self-deception. _Most_ people who lie have some reason that’s important to them. Why did you need an excuse to come back, anyhow?”

“Self-deception, maybe,” he said absently, and then while she was blinking at that, said, “I do want to tell you something, Piper, and it’s the truth.” He looked up at her “A truth they _didn’t_ tell you earlier today, which… irritates me.”

Piper crossed her arms, waiting, until he suggested, “Why don’t we sit down first?” Then she went to the couch, gathered up her blanket and sat down. A little to her surprise, Malachai seated himself in one of the dining chairs rather than also on the couch.

Without further preamble, he said, “We don’t have non-disclosure agreements at the Ark. Instead we generally just don’t let people leave very often. So even if the Anchor thing isn’t to your taste, you might be stuck here for a while.” He looked down at the cookie crumbs again.

Piper thought about that for a moment. She remembered how irate Anahel had been about Malachai _press-ganging_ her, which at least correlated his current claim. It definitely made his recruitment of her _even worse_ , morally speaking. And yet… she had just been feeling depressed that she was going to fail their Anchor test and be booted back to her sad excuse for a life on the mainland. It put the situation in an unusual perspective.

A possible downside occurred to her. Cautiously, she asked, “You mean like in some sort of prison cell or something?”

Surprised, he glanced up. “What? No. In the gardens, probably. Anahel really does need help with them. She’s terrible with growing things.”

Another bit of memory flickered. “ _Oh_. That’s what you meant about how if you didn’t tell me anything, they could just send me home again.”

“You didn’t believe me when I said that,” he noted. “And you were right.”

Piper cuddled with her blanket, looking at him. He sprawled in the chair, one finger still in the plate of crumbs but his gaze directed toward the floor between them. His wavy hair was rumpled. When she didn’t say anything, he raised his gaze to meet hers. They stared at each other in silence for a long, long moment.

Abruptly he rose and came to her, half-kneeling on the couch’s edge, his eyes narrow. As she peered up at him, he lifted his hand and drew his fingertips lightly across her cheek. She shivered, pleasant goosebumps rising on her arms. Then his thumb brushed over her lower lip, an exquisite sensation that made her nipples harden and warmth pool in her belly. Her eyes fluttered closed. A few heartbeats later, she felt his breath across her cheek right before he kissed her.

_This_ , she thought as his lips moved softly over hers. _This is real_. _How_ I _feel, right now._ So when he took the quilt from her arms and nudged her back on the couch, she let him, and when he put one knee on either side of her to deepen the kiss, she welcomed it. His soft hair curled around her fingers as he teased her tongue with his. When he moved to kissing along her jaw, she gasped and tilted her head let him access her ear.

His tongue, wet and warm, traced the shell of her ear and she moaned deep in her throat. He stilled, lifting his mouth from her skin, his breathing harsh. Then he came back to her mouth, kissing her almost frantically until she felt like she was melting inside and she was desperate for his touch on other parts of her body.

But when she pushed her hands under his shirt, he finally pulled himself away, resting his forehead against hers. “Not tonight,” he whispered. “Not until you know me better. Maybe tomorrow.”

With a flex of muscles, he pushed himself away from her. Then he stopped at the table to pick up the plate and went to the door, where he paused and said without looking back, “By the way… That wasn’t a mistake, and I do intend on it happening again. Goodnight, Piper.”

The door closed quietly behind him and she groaned, fumbling for the blanket to pull over her face.


	6. Chapter 6

Malachai had left the first time with Ash, ready with his excuse for returning and still feeling the burn of jealousy at the way Piper’s gaze had been glued to the tall angel. He hadn’t expected it to hit so hard, although his expectation that he would dislike watching the two of them together was why he’d arranged for a more private meeting

That, and he wanted to see her again, see how well she was coping with the day. She’d been as gentle and sweet and beautiful as he’d expected, with dreamy eyes that had lit up at his teasing, and then darkened as she focused on his companion.

But as he parted from Ash, the urge to touch her again overwhelmed him. He couldn't stand the thought of giving her up before he'd tasted more of her skin than her little 'mistake' had permitted. He’d wanted her since she spent the night sleeping in his lap, and only his determination to not scare her off had stopped him from pursuing her directly.

He went back to her room, intent on getting close to her and provoking another 'mistake' so that he could take full advantage of it. Instead he'd moved on her, driven across the distance he'd created by her silent contemplation. She'd been willing, _eager_ to give him as much as he wanted of her. He could have had her that night. He could have been inside her _right then_.

_Fuck._ He didn't know why her calm acceptance of his nature made him perversely interested in imposing limits on himself. It was stupid and counter productive. As for consequences... He'd always seen those as an obstacle course to be navigated in pursuit of his desires, not any kind of _deterrent._ And yet here he was, brooding about what the next day would bring.

It wasn’t as if the relationship between Anchor and Angel _had_ to be sexual. Most of them weren’t. But Malachai knew Ashmedai. The tall angel could be kind in a lazy way, but he didn’t share. He’d do whatever he had to in order to make sure his Anchor’s eyes were fixed only on him.

And Piper Jones, sweet innocent that she was, would probably be putty in his hands. The way she’d kissed Malachai on the jet… He stopped in the corridor, thinking about her softness against him and the fierce light in her eyes as she’d told him she’d made a mistake, nothing more.

He’d made one too. Rushing her back here because the Ark needed her? Definitely a mistake. He should have taken his time in the city, seduced her properly, and waited until she’d begun to bore him before bringing her in. Her inevitable sense of betrayal would only have benefitted him, then.

Now…

Well, as the Red Queen had noted far too astutely: he’d made his bed and he had to lie in it. Unfortunately, it would probably be far more comfortable than he deserved.

***

The next morning, Piper found a message on a screen over the table, telling her to be ready for a late breakfast around midmorning. She spent some time poking at the screen and its walled garden entertainment options, which she’d wished she’d discovered the night before. Instead, after Malachai had left the second time, she read some of her books and listened to the occasional sound of people passing beyond her door. She’d been too shy and nervous to venture out.

By the time Sajan and Anahel showed up at her door that morning, she’d been as ready as possible for over an hour. She didn’t say anything about how their idea of _midmorning_ and hers varied, only made a mental note to get actual clock times in the future.

“I hope you slept well?” asked Sajan, with another burst of that forced heartiness she’d noticed before. He wasn’t a leader by personality, and she wondered how he’d come to the Directorship.

“Fine, thank you,” Piper said politely, giving each of them a smile.

Anahel returned a delighted smile that lit up her face, and Piper realized what she’d originally interpreted as bright brown eyes were actually crimson, just like Sammael’s. But Anahel’s eyes were wide and friendly, rather than gates into nightmare. Piper decided she liked them.

“I hope you haven’t been too hungry?” asked Anahel. “I tried to make Sajan move faster. He never even eats breakfast.”

“I usually eat earlier, but I had that other sandwich,” admitted Piper.

“See, Anahel? I took care of it,” said Sajan, glancing at a small tablet in a distracted way. “And Cassiel’s ready to feed us.” He put the tablet in a pocket. “We need to hurry before the lunch rush starts, though.”

Piper walked between them through the wide corridor that ran through what had to be the residential level until the corridor ended in the cafe-style cafeteria she’d seen briefly the night before. It was nearly empty, with only a pair of women drinking coffee in a corner, and a tall white-haired man standing at the grill counter. Sajan waved as they went to a table, and the cook nodded briefly before turning to his equipment.

“The price we pay for eating now is that he decides what we eat,” admitted Sajan wryly.

“Oh, but if you have any allergies or anything you hate, he’ll definitely listen!” said Anahel. “Do you?”

Piper shook her head. “I’m just as happy to not have to decide. I’d only spend too much time trying to decide what was the least trouble.” She adjusted her chair and decided that they had some time before eating, she might as well bring up uncomfortable news Malachai had shared the night before.

Phrasing her inquiry carefully, she said, “Last night I learned that even if I don’t fit your needs for an Anchor, I’ll still be staying here for a while? I originally only packed for a few days, but as long as there’s laundry facilities I’ll be fine!”

Sajan’s hand on the table curled into a fist. “Malachai,” he growled, which Piper chose to neither confirm nor deny. After a moment, he slumped and went on. “This is… unfortunately true. In your case, we may have… alternatives, although they’d come with their own cost.”

“We don’t want anybody unwilling here. Especially people with Warps,” said Anahel earnestly. “That could be so bad.”

Hastily, Piper said, “Well, I’m happy to stay! I’m willing to work, too. I really am good with gardens.”

Anahel’s brow darkened and she scowled down at the table. “Gardens…” Just as Piper was feeling the sick dread of having once again said the wrong thing, Anahel made a clear effort to shake off her mood. “If you don’t match anyone as an Anchor, we’ll make it work. The gardens definitely need work.”

“Let’s talk about that later,” said Sajan hurriedly. “This morning we’re slated to talk about Alice.” He hesitated. “Malachai didn’t tell you anything about her last night?”

Piper gave him a wide-eyed look, unwilling to either get Malachai in more trouble nor lie to Sajan. “I don’t know anything about Alice other than Mr. Beckett wanted to introduce me to her right after we arrived.”

He rubbed his brow and sighed. “Alice is… the spiritual backbone of the Ark. Without her, we wouldn’t be able to do what we do. She serves in a limited capacity as a universal Anchor, among other things.”

“What’s her connection to Wonderland?” Piper asked in interest, and then added, “I met Ashmedai last night. He’s the one who mentioned Wonderland.”

Sajan gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Alice… _is_ Wonderland, in a way.” He sighed. “For important reasons you aren’t cleared to know, Alice is kept in an artificial coma. It’s for everybody’s benefit, including hers. From a technical standpoint, she’s a biological machine at this point, part of the overall Looking Glass system. But she’s also very dear to all of us, most especially to the angels.”

Piper concentrated, trying to keep up. “Because she’s a universal Anchor? What does that actually mean?”

Anahel said quietly, “Yes. But also because she’s Alice.”

At that point, the conversation paused while Cassiel delivered three omelets with toast and jelly to them. The tall cook said like it was an announcement of impending doom, “Lunch starts in half an hour,” before vanishing into the back of the kitchen.

Sajan hesitated, looking down at his omelet as if uncertain if he had time to eat it.

“Oh, eat, Sajan,” said Anahel, exasperated. “I’ll explain. You eat, too, Piper. Eating’s not optional for humans!”

Piper blinked. “It is for angels?”

Anahel shrugged slim shoulders. “We get hungry, but because of the way we’re made, we can go much, much longer before we suffer from lack of nutrients. Eat!” She waited, watching sternly until Piper had eaten a few bites of the very good omelet. “On the other hand, most angels—angels incarnated after Sammael—can only go a few minutes without an Anchor before falling apart. That’s a safety mechanism designed by the Red Queen—” she stopped, blushing as Sajan hurriedly shook his head. “Right, you don’t need to know that. Anyhow, incarnated angels need some form of Anchor, and angels who are awaiting incarnation dream with her. That dream is Wonderland.”

Piper ate a few more bites in a hurry and then, after swallowing, said, “I… don’t understand any of that.”

“You will eventually,” said Sajan, pushing his empty plate away. “For now, I want to prepare you for meeting Alice, and explain why we’re taking you to see a girl in a coma. Once she authorizes you, you’ll be able to access the Looking Glass system from several other terminal points. But the first time always has to be through her.” He smiled at Piper’s wide-eyed inquisitive look. “Some of this will only make sense when you experience it.”

“Sure,” said Piper, trying for cheerful but feeling a little overwhelmed. A few other Ark employees began to arrive in the cafeteria, all of them pausing to look curiously at Sajan’s table. “What am I supposed to do with the Looking Glass system?”

“Oh!” said Sajan, looking startled. “Yes. The Looking Glass will compare the psychic signature of your Warp to that of our angels. If you match, you’ll be able to serve as their Anchor, and release the portion of that angel’s power otherwise restricted.”

Piper poked at the remains of her egg. “Does it hurt?”

Neither answered at first, and she looked up nervously to see them exchanging looks. Then Sajan said, “Interacting with the Looking Glass is painless. Being an Anchor… has its costs.” Then, fiercely, he said, “But I promise, nobody is going to make you _act_ as an Anchor, even if you’re proven to have the ability to do so.”

But when Anahel bit her lip and looked down at the table, Piper knew it wouldn’t be nearly as simple as Sajan made it sound.

After finishing up their meal, Sajan and Anahel once again escorted Piper through the Ark, this time to an area that she suspected was under the mountain itself. The hallway was tall and empty of doors, until they came to a pair of double-height doors. Malachai leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, while a small, sturdy-looking woman with a strawberry blonde braid studied a tablet on the other side.

“Ah, Raphael,” said Sajan. “I saw your report on Dantalion—”

“Oh!” said Piper, awash with sudden guilt as she realized how she’d totally forgotten about him. “He was fighting Sammael? Is he all right?”

Raphael gave Piper a small, grave smile. “He is recovering. I am certain he would be pleased to hear of your placement as an Anchor, though.”

“Ahem,” said Anahel, and made a formal introduction. “This is Raphael, Piper. She’s our medical angel, taking care of both human and angelic staff here at the Ark.” Then she gave a little huff and muttered, “Is it that hard to do things properly?”

“Thank you, Ana,” said Sajan meekly. “You’re right. Raphael, let’s talk after this about your report.”

Piper looked past them to where Malachai hadn’t shifted from his casual lean. He gave her the easy smile she found so attractive, and she found herself unconsciously taking a few steps toward him. In response, he straightened up.

“Well, Miss Jones? Shall we go discover your fate?” He rapped his knuckles on a black screen embedded into the wall beside the door.

The upper half of a figure appeared on the screen: feminine, with a red visor over her eyes and what looked like an elaborate red tiara on her masses of white hair. When she spoke, Piper recognized the pilot’s voice. “Don’t be a brat, Malachai. Everybody else, Alice has just finished her daily maintenance routine. She should be in an amenable state for visitors after Raphael administers the stimulant. Please _try_ not to upset her. Many of the angels are already on edge today.”

There was a click from the doors and they slid apart, revealing a cavernous dark space beyond. Raphael entered immediately, and Anahel hurried after. Sajan lingered, waiting on Piper.

“It’s not as dark as it looks,” said Malachai encouragingly. “Would you like to hold my hand?”

Piper gave him an unfriendly look. “Didn’t she just say not to be a brat?”

“Good for you, Miss Jones,” said the Red Queen. “I look forward to working with you in the future.”

The praise put a bit of iron in Piper’s spine and she marched after Anahel without giving Malachai another glance.

The chamber beyond was much taller than the hall and, Malachai having told the truth for once, better lit than it appeared from without. It only seemed so dark because almost everything in the chamber had been paneled in black.

It was nothing like any hospital room Piper had ever seen, even in movies. At first she wasn’t even sure where the patient was, until she noticed Raphael standing at the base of a thick column covered in cables and blinking lights, and Anahel staring intently at the top of the column.

Following the administrator’s gaze led Piper to the black and glass pod at the top. It was tilted at an angle, but as Raphael worked at the base, the pod rotated until it was vertical.

“Here, Piper,” said Malachai quietly. She startled, realizing that everybody was quiet in Alice’s room. It reminded Piper of when she’d visited an old cathedral on a long ago school trip.

She looked where Malachai indicated and realized there was a raised platform opposite Alice’s column, with stairs leading to the top. “Oh,” she whispered. “That probably makes seeing her much easier. Why is she so high?”

Malachai laughed softly. “You don’t have to actually whisper. As for the design of this room… you’ll have to ask Her Majesty when she’s in a good mood. But make sure you have a drink first, or you’ll never keep up.”

He brushed his fingers over her hand, just enough to draw her after him to the platform and up the stairs. Piper looked around before following him. Anahel was staring up at the platform with her hands clasped and a wistful expression on her face, while Raphael stood quietly ready at the column’s base. Sajan trailed behind Piper and Malachai, looking distantly troubled.

“Sir?” asked Piper. “Is this all right?”

“Hmm?” said Sajan. “Oh. Yes. Malachai will show you what to do. Please… please be kind to her, Miss Jones.”

She noticed that for all of Malachai’s troublemaking, he was trusted with this task. Thoughtfully, she followed him up the steps.

At the top of the platform was a stand with a large screen, like a lectern. When she got her first good look at the figure in the pod, Piper caught her breath. Sajan had called Alice a _girl_ and he’d meant it. Although only her upper half was visible through the pod glass, it was clear she was a prepubescent child. She wore a pink nightgown and her pale hair floated freely in whatever filled the pod. Her eyes were closed and only a few small tubes obscured the terrible serenity of her sleeping face.

“Malachai,” said Piper in a thin little voice, craving some kind of reassurance or explanation she knew she wouldn’t be getting.

He gave her an inscrutable look and then called, “Piper’s ready, Raphael. Load her up.”

There was a shift in the background hum of machinery, Raphael did something at her station, and the light in Alice’s pod dimmed. The little girl’s eyelids fluttered and then a gleam of reflected light showed they’d at least partially opened.

Then, from invisible speakers ranged all over the room came a child’s cheerful voice. “Whoa, whoa, I’m shrinking! Wait! No! I’m _growing_ , Raphael! I’m getting bigger and bigger and _bigger_.” And on many, many screens scattered all over the room: some as tall as the room itself and others much smaller, a pale-haired little girl in buckled Mary Janes and a chocolate corduroy pinafore dress appeared, in whole or in part. On the biggest screen, to Piper’s right, only her shoes and ankles appeared until she bent over to look, upside down and smiling, at the room beyond.

Shocked, covering her mouth, Piper looked between the semi-conscious child in the pod and the gap-toothed grin on the screens. Then Alice stood up straight again and spun in a circle before collapsing onto her knees and smoothing her skirt. One after another, all the screens stabilized until they showed the same image. Dozens of copies of Alice all looked directly at Piper.

“Hmm. Hmmmmmmm. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” She put a finger to the corner of her mouth. “You’re new! Have you come to play with me?”

Nobody else said anything, and Piper had a flash of panic that once again she hadn’t been given the script, that once again she’d say the wrong thing. But the look in those golden brown eyes was so very straightforward and curious that Piper knew the only correct way to answer was the same way she’d answer any other child.

“Yes, I have,” she said firmly. “What do you like to do?”

“Paint!” said Alice, and Piper remembered the prints on the corridor walls. “And have tea parties, and play tag! All sorts of other things, too.”

Piper smiled. “I think I remember how to do all those things.”

Alice beamed. “Okay, what’s your name so I can remember you?”

“Piper Jones.”

“Hmm. Hmmmm. Okay!” Her smile became a pout. “But I hope you play with me more than all those other people have. People keep coming to meet me. Then they go away and never, ever come back.”

Piper was distracted from this gloomy statement by the oddest sensation of something tickling inside her skull. She shook her head as if she could dislodge it.

Malachai gestured to the screen. “Put your hand here, Piper. Either one is fine.”

When Piper did as instructed, a bright white light flashed from the screen. As she blinked away the afterimage, she realized images of faces were popping all over the screen, crowding each other out with a rushing murmur. She stared in fascination for a moment and then looked around to see what happened next.

It was Malachai’s expression that made her realize something unusual had happened. He stared at the screen where her hand rested, his dark eyes wide and his mouth forming the words, “God _damn_.”

The previous images exploded away and the Red Queen took their place, looking smug. “This is—”

The tickling in Piper’s skull became the scratching of fingernails on a blackboard, the cascade of horns, the crash of surf and the giggle of a small child.

Alice sprang to her feet excitedly. “Hey! You’re here! You’re really _here_ , not like all of the others!”

Piper’s vision blurred and pixelated. She staggered against the screen, covering her ears. A child’s voice said, “Oh, yay!” and another child’s voice said, “Playtime?” and yet another said, “Finally!” and then there were too many to understand, all gabbling in her skull. She couldn’t see anything except but randomly shifting colors. Her eyes hurt, and her ears, and her head felt like it was going to _explode._ All she could think was _They said it wouldn’t hurt!_

Then, in her head and in her ears, the strong voice of Raphael said, _“Enough. Be silent.”_

Silence fell, and Piper wanted to weep in relief. But her vision was still wrong, and although the voices in her skull had quieted, she could still feel the attention, the _presence_ of dozens of personalities all doing the psychic equivalent of jumping up and down and whispering in anticipation around her.

“Malachai,” commanded Raphael. “Bring her down.”

His warm arm was already around her waist supporting her. But when he laid his fingers along her wrist, the noise obscuring her vision faded, and so did her awareness of the crowd of psychic presences. Slowly, her mind became her own again.

“Piper,” he murmured. “Piper. I’m going to jump you down. Don’t be afraid.”

She didn’t respond, still trying to sort out what had happened to her. When he lifted her and they fell together, she couldn’t even cling to him. Then, on the floor, he released her to Raphael and everything went _wrong_ again.

“No!” she cried out, reaching out blindly as her vision disintegrated again.

No, _not_ blindly. She knew _exactly_ where Malachai was, just like she knew where Raphael was, and where Anahel was. Somewhere in the whispering babble she could feel other familiar presences: Dantalion, Ashmedai.

Piper laced her fingers through Malachai’s. Her new awareness faded, leaving her ordinary vision. Raphael picked up her other wrist, doing doctor things Piper was too distracted to pay attention to.

Instead she stared hard at Malachai, who watched her with an odd smile.

Something important had just happened, and she only clearly understood one part of it. Her voice cracking, she said, “I thought you had a storm Warp.”

“Nope.” He shrugged, his smile twisting wryly.

She narrowed her eyes, but although she looked hard, she could see nothing around his shoulders. It didn’t matter. She’d felt him in her mind. She _knew_. “ _How_ can you be like them? How can you be an angel? What was all that about… about wings and a requirement for Anchors and restricted powers?”

His hand tightened on hers. “Remember how I said Dantalion was special? So am I.”

After a moment in which her head throbbed with the memory of noise and Raphael tapped her spine, Piper said distantly, “I believe everybody’s got something in them worth kindness and consideration. Except possibly you, Mr. Beckett.”

He gave her a charming smile. “Call me Malachai.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter as I get myself restarted on this.

“Dammit, Malachai—” came Sajan’s voice.

Furiously, she yanked on her hand and he promptly released her. The psychic noise once again overwhelmed her, as loud again as it had been the first time. She crouched down, pressing her hands against her ears. What was happening to her? She’d been brought here, _tricked_ here, and _everybody_ had lied to her. They’d said _it wouldn’t hurt_.

Alice in her pod flashed before her mind’s eye and she shuddered as once again the psychic babble dropped to whispers. Then Malachai touched the back of her hand with one finger and true silence fell.

Raphael’s gentle hand stroked her back. “You are shocked, but that is all, Miss Jones. You’ll feel better soon.”

Slowly Piper lowered her hands, holding onto Malachai’s finger like she was a child too. “Am I going to be put into a coma like Alice?”

“No, no,” said Malachai soothingly. “There’s absolutely no need for that.”

She looked around. Raphael knelt beside her and Malachai crouched in front of her. Behind Raphael stood Anahel, her eyes huge and her knuckle in her mouth. Next to Anahel stood Sajan, who looked like he was still catching up with events. The screens had all gone dark and Alice’s pod had been returned to its initial orientation.

“I gather you matched a number of angels, Miss Jones?” ventured Sajan.

“ _All_ of us, Sajan,” said Anahel, her eyes shining. “She’s like Alice. She even connected to Wonderland.”

“It _hurt_ ,” said Piper accusingly, and instantly felt terrible as Sajan winced and Anahel’s face crumpled. But it had. It _did_ , especially knowing that if she shoved Malachai away again, the hurt would return. “Is there any way to make this… go away?”

Malachai said lightly, “Sure. Get about twenty miles away from the Ark and you’ll be fine. There are pretty hard limits on the connection between an Anchor and an angel.” His finger curled against the palm of her hand. “Or we can just stay like this.”

She ignored his second remark. “ _Am_ I an Anchor now? I thought it was something I had to opt into after… after passing the test.” She hated the petty whine she heard in her voice.

Sajan cracked his knuckles nervously. “I wish one of the other Anchors were here… Raphael?”

“We’re all still Anchored to Alice,” said Raphael quietly. “But we are _aware_ of Miss Jones. I believe that she is in some fashion extending Wonderland. It may be a property of being a universal Anchor rather than something unique to the Alice gene-line.” She inspected Piper thoughtfully. “Upon further analysis, I believe she should spend some time resting until we have worked out a way not to overwhelm her.”

Piper cringed away from Raphael, knocking into Malachai. He caught her and pulled her to her feet as he rose. “I _just_ told her we wouldn’t be forcing her into a coma, Raphael. Please don’t ruin my attempt to be honest for once.”

“I… I should try to get used to it.” She compelled herself to release Malachai’s finger—a wasted bit of bravery, she realized, since a single finger of his hand at her waist still brushed her skin under her shirt.

“Probably, yes,” said Malachai agreeably. “Let’s get you back to your room first, though.”

“Yes,” said Raphael decisively. “Alice’s chamber is not the place for any of this. Sajan, I require a meeting with you at your earliest convenience.”

Sajan sighed. “Yes. You and many others, Raphael. This has been a remarkable morning. Miss Jones, thank you. Do rest if you can. Assuming no crisis arises, I’ll discuss our options going forward with you tomorrow.”

Piper’s gaze went to Anahel, who had been the quietest, whose joy she had crushed by whining about some discomfort. Once again the blonde angel was gnawing on her knuckle, her gaze on the floor. When she felt Piper’s gaze, she raised her head, forced a half-smile that instantly faded, and then looked away.

“Anahel, I’m sorry—” Piper blurted, her heart aching.

“What?” Anahel looked at her again, astonished. “What are _you_ sorry for?”

“I—” Piper shook her head. “I was so small and petty about something that excited you—” Malachai’s hand moved at her waist, and then his whole hand slid under her shirt against her lower back, startling her to silence.

Anahel brushed past Raphael and Sajan to take one of Piper’s hands in both of her own. “You have nothing to apologize for,” she said firmly. “You’ve _changed everything_. We could… we could really do this now—”

“Anahel,” said Malachai in a voice like a chilly knife. “Be quiet.”

Anahel blinked and then her eyes widened and she covered her mouth in chagrin. Then, shaking her head, she stepped back behind Sajan, waving goodbye.

Piper exhaled slowly and then held out her hand to Malachai. He caught it without removing his hand from her back, and for a moment it was like they were about to waltz. Something in his eyes made her remember the night before, and she wished she hadn’t.

“Let’s go?” she asked, her voice thick.

“Yes,” he murmured, taking his other hand from her back and guiding her to the door.

Only a few steps beyond stood Ashmedai. “Wait,” he commanded. “I wish to be transferred to her immediately. She’s not perfect, but she’s good enough.”

So cheerfully it was almost flippant, Malachai said, “No. She can’t be your personal anchor after all.”

Ashmedai’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Shall we see about that?” The glint of moonlight at his shoulders brightened and Piper stared in bemused fascination before realizing in horror that the tall angel seemed to be about to start a fight over her

But Malachai sighed. “What’s your plan, Ash? You’re too smart to hurt her, and your moonfire certainly won’t hurt me.”

The other angel’s face shuttered so quickly it was like he’d put on a mask. “It will be up to her in the end. But Sammael has reappeared and the clock is ticking down.”

“And here comes Dantalion,” announced Malachai brightly as a shadow-cloaked figure stalked up behind Ashmedai. “He’s going to reassure us all that he’s handled Sammael twice before and can continue doing it as needed.”

Dantalion grimaced. “With sufficient time, yes. Otherwise, we’ll—”

“We’ll discuss it later, yes! You’re right. Ashmedai, if you don’t get out of our way, I’m going to spank you.”

Once again sparks flared around Ashmedai, untilDantalion grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the way like an old man correcting a younger one. To Piper’s surprise, the sparks faded, and Ashmedai lowered his head.

Then Malachai was hustling her past both of them, practically dragging her down the hall and into the closest elevator.


	8. Chapter 6b

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Publishing this elsesite with the previous chapter as 6, thus 6b.

When they arrived at her room, Malachai escorted her in, still holding her hand. He looked down at her for a moment and then closed the door behind him.

Piper stared up at him, chewing on her lip. “Would Ashmedai really have attacked you over me?”

His eyes closed briefly before he pulled her over to the couch. “There’s no saying. Ash is… a prototype, in a manner of speaking. An experiment in recreating Sammael with more regulators.”

Aghast, Piper sank down onto the couch. “Why would you want to _recreate_ Sammael?”

Malachai sat beside her, shifting his grip on her hand to something more comfortable. “That’s probably a bad word choice. We do need somebody who can match Sammael eventually. Ashmedai was intended to be that somebody. But both the regulation process and his very purpose have made him… unpredictable.” He looked at her intently as he spoke, as if he was studying her reaction.

Shivering, Piper said, “That sounds dangerous.”

“Yes,” Malachai agreed. “Very.”

“And you? How dangerous are you?” Piper asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I can’t make firebolts or summon lightning, if that’s what you’re asking.” He sounded cheerful for the first time since she’d met Alice.

“It’s not.” She thought about the night before, and how he’d pressed her into this couch as he kissed her. “Is everything you do a manipulation?”

“If I said no, would you believe me?”

She thought about that. “I’d try to.” She’d _want_ to.

A scowl flashed across his face before it smoothed away. Real? Cleverly acted? She didn’t know. “Don’t believe anything here.”

A laugh cracked out of Piper and she shook her hand free of Malachai’s. Instantly she felt the _openness_ that apparently served as a window for any of the angels to peer into her soul. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? You can’t, or you wouldn’t say something so… so useless. I close my eyes and I still feel you, and… so many others. I _have_ to believe. How many angels are there?”

“Dozens,” he said quietly. “Dozens incarnated and more waiting for rebirth in the Looking Glass. You’re feeling both kinds, I suspect.”

 _You’re going to unlock us all_ , whispered an unfamiliar voice in her mind.

_Please, please. Please help me save Sammael._

_She’s worthless, just like all the others. You’ll see._

_Shut up!_

_Don’t frighten her, please!_

Piper dropped her hand onto Malachai’s again and the window in her mind closed. She exhaled carefully. “They’re not all happy to have me here.”

“We’re individuals.” He said it carelessly, and her eyes filled with tears. She lifted her hand from his to wipe them away and the window once again opened.

 _She’s too weak. This is just another false hope._ The harsh mental voice wasn’t familiar, which made it worse. It was a stranger judging her when she was overwhelmed, and finding her wanting.

“Stop it,” she whispered.

 _Sorry_ , said the harsh voice, without sounding the least sorry.

Malachai’s fingers stroked her cheek and she opened eyes she’d squeezed shut. His eyes glinted. “What’s happening?”

“You’re _individuals_ ,” she said angrily. “I can’t spend all my time clinging to you. I don’t want to cling to you at all.”

“Do you want to go back home?” he asked intently, sliding his fingers around to the back of her neck and down onto her shoulder.

“No!” she flared, leaning away from him. “I want to take care of your gardens without a bunch of cruel monsters whispering in my ears. But that was just a lie of yours I should have known better than to believe, right? God, do you even have gardens here?”

“Ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling, am I interrupting? Probably for the best,” said a voice over speakers somewhere in the room, before the door slid open and the Red Queen floated in, one leg curled beneath her as she drifted forward.

“Are there gardens here, Your Majesty?” asked Malachai, his eyes locked on Piper.

Piper pressed her lips tightly together, looking away, and only then did she really focus on the figure that drifted in her room. Her brow furrowed.

The Red Queen still wore her visor and her tiara, along with an ornate crimson partial bodysuit encircled by rings of light at her joints. She had long red fingernails and, quite incongruously with her floating, high-heeled crimson boots. Her head tilted at Malachai’s question. When she spoke, her mouth moved but her voice still came from the speakers, like she had a microphone. “I’ve seen them on the technical specifications but they’re not very green. Release her, Mal. I’ve brought something to help.”

Expressionlessly, Malachai lifted his hand from the back of Piper’s neck and stood up. Instantly, the rush of distant whispers returned, along with the sense of Malachai’s presence. Malachai’s, but not the Red Queen’s. As the other moved closer, Piper stared up at her in confusion. “You’re… not one of them?”

The Red Queen bent, reaching for Piper’s hand. But her fingers around Piper’s wrist felt like nothing human: a cool tingle with no force behind it. Then her thumb poked the back of Piper’s wrist and there was an instant of mild pain, like she’d been bitten by an insect. The whispering abruptly stopped, although she could still feel _presences._

“Congratulations, you’re now a cyborg. That should discourage them from pestering you,” said the Red Queen briskly. “And no, I’m not an angel.”

“But you’re—what _are_ you?” Piper glanced at her wrist, and the tiny reddening dot of the Red Queen’s sting. “And what did you do?”

“I’m the Red Queen,” she said smugly. “And I’ve injected you with a nanobot that broadcasts a reminder of my _extreme displeasure_ with those who bother you casually. Because I had to make it on the spot, it’s limited in certain ways—but Raphael is handling those. Speaking of which, are you coming along to the festivities, Malachai?”

Once upon a time, Piper would have been concerned over the prospect of a tiny machine injected into her without warning or consent. But at the moment, the delivery mechanism—floating, inhuman red and white lady—and the location—where _was_ the Ark anyhow?—both overshadowed a tiny little prick on the wrist that gave her a little more quiet in her own head.

She looked at Malachai, who was leaning on the arm of the couch. “Festivities?”

“We’re about to have some serious arguments about you, Miss Jones,” he said, straightening up.

Piper’s hands tightened in her lap. “Shouldn’t I have a say in those?”

The Red Queen had been drifting toward the door, but she stopped, looking at Piper again. “Only if the ethics committee agrees.” After a beat she said, “That’s a joke. We don’t have an ethics committee anymore, just a lot of passionate people with strong opinions.”

“About me?” said Piper weakly, feeling like a whirlpool was pulling her around for another spin.

The Red Queen pointed a fingernail at her. “That horrified reaction is why Mal—why there’s going to be a brawl over whether you get any say over what we do with you. You haven’t so far shown the best ability to look out for your own interests, and you seem to have picked up the most unlikely champions.”

“Your Majesty, do me the honor of shutting up,” said Malachai, an unusual note of irritation in his voice as he turned away.

The Red Queen’s voice was rich with laughter. “Come along then. You might be sleepy soon, Miss Jones. If you are, it will be safe to rest.”

While Piper was still processing this, the door to her room opened and closed, and she was alone.

She drew her quilt to her chest, hugging it as she let the events of the morning wash over her. Absently, she wondered if she ought to eat something—but her late breakfast hadn’t been so very long ago, by her body’s clock, even if it seemed like a lifetime ago in every other way.

Thoughts of Alice kept chasing through her mind, adorable on her screens, and heart-wrenching in her pod. She remembered Anahel’s shining eyes and true joy at Piper’s connection to Wonderland—a joy she still didn’t understand and certainly didn’t share. What did it mean that she was _like Alice_ , if not that she too was destined for a pod? She was a universal Anchor, but if they had Alice, why did they need another?

 _Does it hurt_? she’d asked Sajan, and there’d been a moment of silence before he’d reassured her—falsely—that it wouldn’t.

 _Being an anchor has its costs,_ he’d added. And yet she recalled how confused he’d been at what was happening to her. He and Anahel had seemed so kind, so sincere. Even now, she wanted to trust them.

And then there was Malachai Beckett. She could still feel his mouth burning against hers when she remembered the night before. That she’d wanted him, she knew. But what he wanted? It still eluded her, her confusion mingling with her mortification at not realizing he was one of the angels. Telling herself he’d been misleading her all along didn’t help. She _wanted_ to trust.

That led her back to Anahel and Sajan, and to Alice, to Sammael and to her own pain and fear. The events of the last twenty-four hours circled in her mind, her thoughts becoming more and more disorganized as the urge to sleep overtook her. Without quite noticing at first, she tumbled into a dream.

The air was moist and bright, and the scent of green life filled her nose. She dug her fingers into the pile of soil on the potting bench in the greenhouse where she’d worked for a few months, watching it shift around her fingers. The fragments all moved together like a fluid, and somehow this connected to the Ark.

Or did it?

 _Oh_. She was dreaming again, as she so often dreamed. But it made sense. Sleep was a way she coped with how overwhelming life could be.

But something unusual nagged at her. She wasn’t alone. She could feel—

Piper turned around. The frosted glass of the greenhouse obscured what lay beyond, but at the entrance, black fire flickered like living darkness.

“Dantalion?” she asked uncertainly.

The figure in the flames turned to look at her, giving her a dispassionate nod, his hat slanting over his eyes momentarily. As his golden gaze met her own, she _knew,_ with an irresistible certainty that this was a _true_ dream.

“You’re real,” she said, and a spark of curiosity flared. “Why are you in my dream? You’re _literally_ in my dream. How?”

His gaze moved back to the outside of the greenhouse. “Why? Because the Red Queen’s toy won’t be enough to keep your sleep undisturbed. Not to those who deeply wish to be with you.”

Piper thought about this, realized he was _protecting her_ , and beamed. “You _are_ nice.”

He snorted. “It’s Raphael who suggested I guard your dreams.”

“Suggested?” she asked dubiously. That didn’t sound very much like the Raphael she’d met earlier.

Just as she hadn’t been certain she’d seen him walk through doors, so she wasn’t certain now about the smile that seemed to flicker across his face. With a dip of his chin in acknowledgement, he said, “All right: ordered.”

“Hmm,” said Piper, tilting her head as she moved away from her potting bench toward him. “But you could have refused. So you’re still being kind.”

Dryly, Dantalion said, “Raphael can make it very, very hard to say no if she thinks a patient’s health is on the line. You want to trust too much, Miss Jones.”

Piper didn’t know the medical angel nearly well enough to have an opinion about her, and she was not ready to talk about her trust issues even in a dream, so she went back to the previous subject. “You mean you’re just taking up the space somebody else would try to occupy? You got here first, for my own good?”

“Something like that.” It was the blandest of non-answers.

It rang…. not false, but _hollow_ and suddenly Piper was annoyed. “Don’t talk down to me. Why won’t anybody just answer me? If you want my willing help, you can’t talk down to me. I’m supposed to be really smart,” she added, and then felt very stupid because it sounded like she was bragging.

Dantalion, though, turned fully toward her and then leaned on the door frame. After a moment, he pulled out a cigarette that didn’t quite fit his appearance, even after he lit it and inhaled. The smoke tickled her nostrils.

When he spoke, it was with a thread of distant amusement. “You really confused Anahel, you know. Even now, she’s not quite sure if you’re right in the head, all because you told her I was nice.”

“How do you know? Are you in two places at once?” she asked, the survivor in her keenly curious as to the angels’ limits.

“No. I’m only here. But I saw the dress rehearsal last night. Tell me. Do you know where you are? What you are? Do you know how we came to be here, and how you began?” His curiosity felt genuine. And yet…

Acidly, she said, “If I trusted myself, I’d give myself 75% on that quiz. But I don’t. Malachai’s made that unsafe.”

The smile he gave her was fanged. “Oh, he _deserves_ you. Razorblades in honey.”

She was shocked more than she wanted to admit by his smile, which meant she put off thinking over the implications of what he’d said. But he didn’t stop to let her catch up.

“There’s no way to make your answer not a riddle, so I’ll be brief. The others can’t get into your dreams like this. All they can do is whisper uncontrollably in your head—but how that manifests when you sleep is beyond them. Raphael doesn’t think that would be a good idea, and neither do I.” His gaze drifted beyond her. “Neither does Anahel, interestingly enough. But she never did believe the truth could be sacrificed.” His gaze snapped back to Piper expectantly. “Unlike Malachai. Now, tell me, smart girl, what do you think is going on?”

Quivering with big, undefined feelings, because he’d _told her things_ but _like that,_ Piper ran over what he said carefully, over and over until she understood: what question he’d actually answered, and what that answer meant. She thought of Malachai’s flare of hostility toward Anahel when she’d been about to tell Piper what exactly she could do, thought of Sajan’s promises and Malachai’s reassurances. She thought about the characterization Rain had given Malachai and everyone else.

Dantalion waited silently the whole time, occasionally taking a drag on his incongruous cigarette.

“I think… in this argument about me, there’s at least two sides. Anahel’s on one side and Malachai’s on another. One of those sides wants to protect me. The other side wants to tell me the truth. Nobody wants the other angels in my head.”

She paused and when he didn’t correct her, went on. “So what side are you on, Mr. Dantalion? Truth, or safety?

He inhaled some smoke. “Me? I’m just here because Raphael twisted my arm.”

Piper grimaced like a dragon. “What side is she on, then?”

“All of them.” As he spoke, the point of his cigarette went out and his black flames vanished into darkness. “Take your rest, Miss Jones. You won’t be interrupted.”

Then, with the coolness of a sudden breeze against her cheek, she was alone in the silence of her mind.

.

.

.

Piper stomped her foot. “No! I’m not having that! This is _my dream_ and I make the rules and _get back here_!” The wind reversed and the darkness peeled away like a veil, lifting to reveal Dantalion regarding her with undisguised astonishment that quickly faded.

“I wasn’t done! Anahel’s on more than one side in this argument, isn’t she?” Piper demanded. “Because you said she wasn’t sure if I was sane or not. And she cares about understanding the truth. What a mess.” And then, because it was her dream and she could freely say what she thought, and because he deserved it, added, “And you have feelings for Raphael you don’t want to tell her about.”

He stared at her. “Your astuteness is starting to terrify me,” he finally said flatly. “Suddenly I find I have an opinion onto what we ought to do with you.”

“Don’t let me stop you from rushing off to make an argument,” she bit out.

He shrugged, half-turning back to his guard. “It doesn’t matter what I want, does it?” With one last glance he said, “Ultimately the only thing that matters is what _you_ decide to do.”

That time when the darkness of deep sleep claimed her, she found it impossible to resist. When she woke she was no longer sure the dream had been real at all.


	9. Chapter 7

It was a knock at her door that woke Piper. As she lifted her head from her arm, she had the foggy sense that whoever it was had been knocking for a while. Her mouth dry, she rolled off the couch to her feet. The red bump on her wristfrom the Red Queen’s injection had faded, and the pressure of the angels’ expectations against her mind was like a distant headache.

 _Dantalion…_ She’d dreamt of angels, too. But it was fuzzy, and even the certainty that it had been real was dream-certainty, and not something she’d trust enough to start a conversation about with him later. Maybe he’d say something first _._

Her visitor knocked again, a patient tapping that suggested the visitor was neither in a hurry nor particularly worried about why she wasn’t answering. Still, it drove Piper to the door. Opening it revealed Rain leaning on the wall next to the door, a knapsack slung over one shoulder.

She straightened up, looking Piper over. “Were you sleeping?”

“Yes,” Piper admitted. “Won’t you come in?”

“Sure, but only long enough for you to get your shoes on.” Rain’s tone verged on the brusque, but Piper remembered when they’d met before, she’d seemed just as ill-tempered and it had definitely not been Piper’s fault.

“Am I going somewhere?” she asked mildly, returning to the couch to find her shoes.

“I’ve been instructed to feed you while everybody else is busy having the vapors over your Awakening.” Rain sat in the same chair Malachai had occupied the night before.

Uncertainly, Piper said, “If you can get me to a kitchen, I’m sure I can find something for myself.”

“No, no, I don’t exactly mind. I’ve got to eat sometimes too.” She waved a hand vaguely. “Do what you need to, I’ll wait.”

Something clicked for Piper. “You’re human, not an angel,” and then, “Did Malachai push this chore on you too?”

Rain hesitated, and then shrugged. “I’d do it if anybody had asked. But… yes.” She scowled. “He said, _Rain, I’ve changed my mind and decided to give you another chance to help out. I think your sparkling personality is exactly what Piper needs today._ I told him I _had_ a job, but he just patted me on the head.”

“He really is a jerk,” said Piper, impressed.

Rain eyed Piper thoughtfully. “And you’re amused by it. If I were in your position, I’d be so furious at him I’d spit every time I heard his name.”

Piper blushed, shrugged and went to her bathroom for a few moments, the fragments of the conversation in her dream circling her thoughts. When she emerged, Rain was leaning on her elbow, staring at nothing in particular.

She focused on Piper. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. But—” Piper stopped, and then rushed on, encouraged by Rain’s raised eyebrows. “I don’t like that he keeps dragging you into this. But… I can’t help but be glad he thought of me. And talking to you turns out to be exactly what I’d like to do right now.”

Rain lifted a hand hastily. “You don’t need to explain—”Her mouth twisted. “ _Everybody’s_ thinking of you right now. But, yeah, Mal’s annoyingly good at knowing what people want. I suppose that’s why they keep him around.” She shrugged her knapsack onto her shoulder again. “Let’s go get some fresh air. We’ll have a picnic.”

As they went into the corridor, Rain added, “You’re not agoraphobic, are you?”

“Uh, not as far as I know. Where are we going?”

“Outside,” said Rain, almost cheerfully. “The mountain can be a little nerve-wracking to newbies, so let me know if it bothers you.”

Already feeling a little bothered, but not about to admit it, Piper instead said, “That reminds me, could you point me to some laundry facilities? If I’m going to be here a while, I should start figuring out the necessities.”

With a shake of her head, Rain said, “One of the angels will handle your laundry. Just stick it in the hamper that’ll show up.”

Startled, imagining Ashmedai running a washing machine, Piper said, “You use the angels for _housekeeping chores_?” Then she remembered Cassiel in the cafeteria, making her an omelet.

A wry smile ghosted across Rain’s face. “When a bored superhuman soldier insists on doing your laundry, you figure out pretty fast it’s easiest not to argue. That just makes it more interesting for them. Others get involved. Soon there’s a whole scrimmage going on over your underwear.”

Piper digested this idea as they rode an elevator up. Finally, she said, “I know there’s dozens of angels here. How many humans are there? I’ve only met you and Mr. Cardoc.”

“Eighteen? Twenty? I don’t keep close count but I know we’ve picked up more than a handful in the last year as part of the Great Anchor Hunt. Here’s the exit.” Rain stopped beside a larger door framed by windows looking out onto the top of the Ark itself and put her hand on the scanner above the handle. A red light flashed green and she turned the handle.

The gust of wind Piper had instinctively braced for did not appear. When Rain stepped through the door, a rainbow rippled around her and vanished. She turned back to look at Piper. “Come on. Anahel maintains a protection around the Ark that keeps us energy efficient, but it doesn’t have any effect on people.”

 _Interacting with the Looking Glass is painless_ , Sajan Cardoc had told her.

 _You want to trust too much,_ said the Dantalion of her dream.

But her stomach growled, and that made steeling herself to move forward much easier. When she passed over the Ark’s threshold, she felt a tickle on her bare arms, but nothing more. Then she stood on what served as the roof for the above-ground portion of the superstructure, looking at the blue, blue sky. Once again, rainbows chased the corner of her sight, as if she stood in an enormous soap bubble.

The open space on the roof was very large, with railings at the edge that looked to have been added on later. There looked to be a large greenhouse off to one side, and a volleyball court and basketball net both showed that the roof was used regularly for recreation.

Piper took an instinctive step toward the greenhouse, but Rain caught her arm. “Nah, we’re not going in there. _Not_ a relaxing environment, and Anahel gets really upset if people see her experiments. Up here.” With a tug, she redirected Piper to the slope rising behind the roof, where they followed a beaten path to a flattish rocky outcropping. A fire pit and a table-like rock again gave the place a well-used look.

The mountain itself had grass and scraggly shrubs, and not a single tree. But the air was warm, with only a mild breeze. The soil, when Piper reached down to squeeze a handful, was dry and low in organic matter. Thoughtfully, she went to the edge of the outcropping as Rain unpacked their lunches from her knapsack.

Below and off to her right was the jutting superstructure of the Ark, all dark metal and steel, with flashes of glass. If she tripped and fell off the outcrop, she’d land badly ten feet down and then most likely roll down the slope until she caught herself on a shrub. If she didn’t…

The lower part of the mountain remained shrouded in a thick bank of white clouds that stretched out as far as the eye could see, until they shimmered with the optical illusion of a blue wall. As Rain joined her at the edge, she said, “Where exactly are we? This place doesn’t make any sense.”

Rain pursed her mouth. “Come back to the picnic and I’ll try to explain. If you fall off and twist your ankle, I’m going to be murdered.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen!” said Piper involuntarily, and then laughed. “I’m hungry, though.”

“Good. I brought a lot of food.” She showed Piper each of the divided box lunches, packed with pickles, fried chicken, croquettes, avocado rolls and other finger foods. They boosted themselves onto the table rock and ate there.

“All right. Where we are…” Rain inspected a pickle before eating it. “We call it the Rainbow. It’s a sort of closed-off pocket of the world. There’s a physical entrance, which is how you got here, but we’re not where that entrance is. The word we use is _incarnarium_.”

Piper accepted this so she could pursue the part she found most curious. “Incarnarium. And how big are these pockets?”

Rain blinked, surprised. “I don’t think it’s consistent. Rainbow is about the size of the mountain, though.”

“So… there’s nothing below the clouds, is there?”

Silently, Rain shook her head, watching her closely.

Piper lowered her gaze, suddenly understanding why Rain had asked her about agoraphobia. The _mountain_ didn’t bother her. The idea that there was nothing _below_ the mountain _did,_ a little.

But the stone beneath her legs was warm and solid, and the food tasted good, so she pushed away the vision of rolling down a mountain floating in the sky and went back to an earlier topic. “Why are there so many bored angels here? They outnumber the humans?”

“Oh yes, they certainly do,” said Rain. She looked down. “Mostly, they’re waiting for Anchors, although of a few of them are Rainbow’s security force.”

Piper puzzled over this while eating some cold fried chicken. Then an unfamiliar voice spoke in her head. _We are real, my pet. Wonderland is sufficient for a childish heart, but eventually even the smallest of us wish to stretch our wings._

With a cry, Piper covered her ears. “Go away! Oh my god, I thought the Red Queen’s sting—”

The new voice laughed, not kindly. _The Red Queen has her uses, but the day when her will overpowers mine shall never come. Enjoy your lunch, my pet. We’ll meet soon enough._

“Who’s bothering you?” demanded Rain, her eyes wide as she leaned forward.

“I don’t know! Do they even have names? They’re just voices.” Piper lowered her hands, embarrassed by her childish reaction.

“Oh, one of the Wonderland ones.” Rain settled back. “They’ve got identifier codes, but they don’t usually take names until they’re incarnated.”

A little desperately, Piper asked, “You’re not an Anchor, right?”

Shaking her head so furiously her dark hair rose in a halo around her face, Rain said, “No, I am not. And I’m glad. It really is dangerous. Each time they leave the Ark, I don’t know if they’ll be coming back again. During the First Incarnarium, we lost—” She cut herself off, and then said, “We lost a lot of people in the first days after Sammael. But everybody did, I think.”

“What do they do that’s so dangerous?” asked Piper. The voices in her head were rude, invasive and scary—but unless she got so frustrated and overwhelmed she started running into walls, they didn’t seem directly dangerous to her. But Ashmedai had said something about needing an Anchor to unlock his wings.

Rain crunched a carrot stick and then said, “They’re circuits, in a way. And the power pulled through them can burn them out.” Then she glanced sharply toward the slope to the roof, just as Piper felt the approach of Ashmedai.

A moment later, the tall, dark angel appeared on the mountainside, wearing a loose white shirt and jeans much like Rain’s outfit. He had a friendly expression on his face, but as he lifted his hand to wave, Rain bounced to her feet, practically quivering with hostility. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Ashmedai’s gaze only flicked to Rain briefly before settling on Piper. “I wanted to talk to you again. Without any annoying interruptions this time.”

Rain growled, “I’m the most annoying interruption you can imagine, Ash. Go away until Sajan decides what we’re doing with her.”

Ashmedai’s gaze narrowed as Rain moved toward him. Piper slid off the stone as well, biting her lip. “I don’t want anyone to get in trouble—”

“Shut up, Piper,” ordered Rain. “Ash, I’m not kidding.” But her shoulders hunched as Ashmedai’s gaze settled on her.

“You’re the storm cloud from the basement, aren’t you? I didn’t recognize you out in the sunshine like this,” said Ashmedai silkily. “Don’t worry so much, stormy. All I want to do is talk to her.”

“You mean all you want to do is overwhelm her into being your Anchor,” snapped Rain, her voice rising. Piper gnawed on a fingernail nervously. Rain’s defensiveness was as alarming as Ashmedai seeking her out. She wondered if the best thing for her to do would be to head back to the Ark on her own. But she’d have to get past Ashmedai first and he seemed totally capable of grabbing her as she went by.

A line of electricity seemed to stretch between Ashmedai and Rain, his gaze cold and hers burning. “Are you her jailor? Did she ask you to keep me away from her, or are you once again doing Malachai’s bidding?”

Rain’s fists clenched as her teeth audibly clicked together. “Piper, do you _want_ to talk to this asshole?”

But Piper didn’t answer. A familiar tingle had started fizzing in her blood and against her skin. She stared up into the sky wildly. For some reason she’d thought this Rainbow place was safe—

“Piper?” repeated Rain, looking over at her. “Piper, what’s wrong—” She too looked up, in time to see the purple and dark blue clouds boiling into existence in the clear sky. A heartbeat later, pink cracks fractured the sky. The entire mountain shuddered.


	10. Chapter 8: Intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last week, while Malachai and other Ark staff members argued about Piper's Anchor abilities, Rain took Piper out for a picnic on the mountainside, explaining that they were within a pocket dimension (known as an incarnarium) called Rainbow. Ashmedai showed up, arguing with Rain over the right to talk with Piper. Piper, however, was distracted by the unexpected appearance of a godstorm within the sanctuary...

Piper instinctively braced herself when she saw the forming godstorm, but Rain stumbled toward Ashmedai when the ground shook. He caught her absently as he scowled at the sky.

Rain wrenched herself away from him, gasping, “No! That’s… that shouldn’t happen. Not here, not now.” She lunged toward Piper. “We have to get inside the Ark.”

Piper barely heard her, staring up at the sky, but her frantic thoughts moved in the same direction.  _ Shelter.  _ She knew she needed shelter. Surely a place that fought godstorms could keep the stormhounds out?  _ Shelter _ . But she couldn’t seem to make her body move. The swirl of the clouds and the growing tingle in the air had the feel of a nightmare.

Rain’s hand closed around Piper’s and pulled her down the outcropping. But as they passed Ashmedai, he reached out and caught Piper’s wrist. 

“Wait.” He stared still at the building godstorm, his grip like a steel manacle.

Rain tugged on her hair with her free hand. “Come inside too, Ash. You can—  _ oh my god _ …”

Banks of pale blue clouds unfolded like petals, and for the third time, Piper saw Sammael. This time he was much closer; she could see more than crimson eyes and bloody wings. He had a jagged slash for a mouth, pale skin and hair darker than the deepest storm cloud whipped in the wind. He glared down at the mountainside as stormhounds took shape around him, and Piper’s terror bubbled over into a panicked struggle against Ashmedai’s grip.

Then, deep within the mountain, Alice  _ screamed _ and Piper’s mind exploded with dozens of visions all at once. The little girl was both frightened and furious by what— _ who _ —had invaded her sanctum. She wanted to lash out violently, but every angel connected to her had been momentarily stunned by her scream. Instead, as Piper watched helplessly, the child retreated deep into her own mind, building psychic walls at an impossible rate. And throughout the Ark, the stunned angels staggered and fell as their connection to her withered to the finest thread.

_ Somewhere in Wonderland, somebody was laughing. _

Ashmedai’s hold on Piper changed as he bumped against her. Ordinary vision returned and she met the angel’s feverish black eyes as he took her shoulder. Above him, Sammael was descending. 

“Help me,” Ashmedai rasped. 

Uncomprehending, her head still full of visions and crimson eyes and wicked laughter, Piper shook her head. Ashmedai grimaced, swaying. When the mountainside trembled again, he lost his balance utterly, releasing Piper as he fell.

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ . Get inside, Piper.” Rain surged past her to Ashmedai’s side, falling on her knees, reaching for him and then yanking her hands back as if she’d be burned. Then she shook her head and grabbed his face. “Stay here, you stupid asshole.”

_ At breakfast, Anahel said, “On the other hand, most angels—angels incarnated after Sammael—can only go a few minutes without an Anchor before falling apart.” _

Piper backed away, keenly aware of Sammael’s gaze on her. Then, in her mind, Ashmedai whispered,  _ Please. I can fight him. Be my Anchor.  _

She felt a wave of hunger roll out from him, and could see by her flinch that Rain felt it too. Then the other woman gasped and bent over Ashmedai.

For a heartbeat she thought Rain had been hurt, and she froze as Ashmedai opened his eyes. At first he focused on Rain, catching her hand as she recoiled from him. “You _ …”  _ But as she yanked herself away from him, he refocused on Piper and rolled to his feet. “Piper Jones, we need you  _ now.” _

_ “How?” _ Piper cried. “I don’t know what to do!” Sammael’s descent had slowed and he now watched them with what might have been faint interest, like a bored spouse at a garden show. But the stormhounds weren’t nearly so patient, springing to the ground to stalk around the trio. Once again the mountain shuddered as the pink cracks in the sky spread and bits of blue fell like shattered eggshell to reveal the vastness of the storm beyond.

“Say  _ yes,  _ and take my hand, _ ”  _ ordered Ashmedai, holding his out, his entire attention fixed on her. Piper looked frantically at Rain for guidance. The other young woman had her head down, staring at the ground as she wrung her hands. Both of them seemed oblivious to the stormhounds caging them in and edging closer.

Crimson flared around Sammael as he began to descend again, his great wings of blood and bone flapping lazily. Drifting bloody feathers became long plumes of flame in the godstorm’s wind. The scent of burnt cedar dizzied Piper and she thought of the dark storm shelters, where they saved you from the storm, in exchange for a price you’d never escape. 

_ I always knew they’d get me in the end.  _ She simply wanted to live too much. 

Piper put her calloused hand in Ashmedai’s long-fingered one. He closed his around hers and once again, her vision went away as her sense of  _ Ashmedai _ swept through every nerve, growing stronger and stronger as it did. It felt like locks opening, like circuits completing—not fully, not one hundred percent, but enough to overwhelm her. The flaws in the bond felt like space to breathe.

She gasped as she felt the  _ draw _ from the angel, pulling strength from her, and opened her eyes. Ashmedai’s gaze was already on the descending Sammael but he held Piper’s hand gently. Then he released her and closed his fist in front of him.

Abruptly, a brilliant starry night swept across the sky, marred only by the ugly storm boiling in one quadrant. As Piper stared in amazement, breathing hard, a large full moon rose behind Ashmedai’s head. The silver light rimmed his dark hair with frost and caught the outline of the shadowy wings that spread from his shoulders. With a rush of wind, they swept down and the angel rose to meet Sammael, his moon-halo moving with him.

He reached to the sky and plucked out one of the stars, letting it fall from his hand. Light strobed around Piper and Rain and when the blaze faded, geometric glimmers of moonlight created a screen between them and the stormhounds.

Sammael, glowing like a crimson torch, tilted his head towards the angel.  _ Who are you? _ His voice was like silence in the rolling thunder. 

Distantly, through the stress of the  _ draw _ Ashmedai created, Piper wondered how he could even ask. Although their coloration was different, the two angels seemed like reflections of each other to her muddled angelic sense.

But Ashmedai answered like he’d been waiting for this question his whole life, smiling as he said, “Don’t you recognize me? I’m your doom.”

_ A child’s fantasy,  _ said Sammael. He looked back down at Piper again, shielded by Ashmedai’s power. One of the stormhounds leapt at her, but rebounded, yelping, off the shimmering lines of moonlight. At the same time, beyond Ashmedai’s moon-halo, the skin of the night split open and a dozen shadowy hands rimmed with pink lightning slid out, grasping at him. 

His wings flared and the hands burned away. “No, no, big brother. You can’t have her while I yet live.”

Once again, Sammael’s burning gaze fixed on his younger brother.  _ Very well.  _ He held out his hand.

With shocking suddenness, lightning drove through his palm and left behind a sword-shaped hole in the world. It swallowed the starlight, the moonlight, and even Sammael’s own crimson radiance. Barely had Piper processed this before his wings closed and he lunged at Ashmedai, scarcely moving slower than his lightning.

But Ashmedai dodged all the same, spinning aside and around his enemy in a move that was more like dancing than flight. He laughed as he spun again, a sound of pure joy. “Yes, like that! Come and get me!”

Once again the sky split open and hands slid out, and at the same time, the pack of stormhounds surged into the sky to support Sammael. Once again, Ashmedai’s radiance burned away the hands; once again he all but ignored the hounds. But this time when Sammael dove toward him, he couldn’t dodge fast enough. Sammael’s pale hand caught the collar of his shirt, and his void sword swept in.

Ashmedai’s shirt dissolved as he flung himself backward, not quite avoiding the blade. Though he made no sound, Piper could feel the strain of his exertion. From the spot on his torso where the sword had struck him, lines of light reminiscent of her own Warp mark crawled over him, until, save for that one dark injured spot, he was covered in glimmering threads. 

“His armor,” whispered Rain, standing a little behind Piper.

_ Disappointing _ , said Sammael, holding his sword low.

Ashmedai’s smile became the baring of teeth in inhuman glee. “Oh really?”

Piper stirred uneasily as her sense of the angel twisted and doubled, as if momentarily there were two of him. Then she felt him reach along the bond they’d created and pull something through her. At the same time, a sword appeared in his hand.

At first she thought the  _ draw _ had vanished. But it was like the waves pulling back from the shore before a tidal wave, and what replaced the  _ draw _ , towering over her mind, was _ pain. _

_ “No, you idiot!” _ cried Rain. Piper felt the other woman catch her as she fell. Above her, Ashmedai and Sammael’s swords clashed together, sparks dripping. But it all seemed very far away. Somehow, Ashmedai had pulled his sword through her heart, and now her everything was bleeding away.

“Oh, god, Piper, I’m so sorry,” said Rain desperately. “Please, please be strong…”

_ How _ ? Piper wanted to ask. She hadn’t ever known how to do that. But she’d lost her words already. Letting her consciousness also slide away seemed like the easiest option. Much better than looking at Rain’s expression.

Piper went limp in Rain’s arms as she passed out.

***

The intrusion ended an argument Malachai was rapidly coming to consider pointless. Pacing in the meeting room, Anahel paused, lifted her head and said, “What—” just before Alice’s scream filled the minds of every angel in the Ark.

They all saw what she’d sensed, even Malachai, whose connection to Alice was the most distant. A black force had entered Rainbow, one she recognized from her worst nightmares—and he hadn’t come alone. Another incarnarium had pressed up against their own, oozing itself into Rainbow in a violation that clearly sickened Anahel.

Instantly, Raphael was at Anahel’s side, her hand on the retching administrator’s back. Her eyes scanned the large room, noting the other angels who were collapsing.

“What—” asked Sajan, before his face hardened as his own Warp sensitivity provided him with answers. “Sammael. Raphael, go to Alice. Do whatever you have to. Anahel—” He took Raphael’s place at her side.

Malachai tuned them out, focusing on the flickering hologram of the Red Queen. “Your Majesty, where is Piper?”

With the inhuman calm she had when she was very, very distracted, the Red Queen said, “She departed via the upper west mountain exit forty-three minutes ago, and has not returned. Rain was with her. Ashmedai followed—”

Before the Red Queen had finished speaking, Malachai was moving through the door. Out of sight of the others, he broke into a run, moving faster than he let most people see he could. As he shoved open the upper west mountain exit, the wind of the growing godstorm parted around him. He emerged into an unnaturally bright night and heard a thin, weak scream from higher on the mountainside.

Above came the clash of weapons that told him everything he needed to know. Ashmedai and Sammael faced off against each other in midair, their wings moving to keep them aloft. Ashmedai had activated his Privilege of the Moon, which had called out the false night. Lines of light blazed across Ashmedai’s body, stronger than the steel of their flashing blades.

His eyes glowed silver as he fell back from a failed assault and Malachai recognized the set of his face. The other had shifted into his unstable combat mindset, which explained why he had pulled his sword from an Anchor not at all prepared to handle such an event. But Malachai had always known he would, if given the opportunity. Ashmedai was their best potential weapon against Sammael, and weapons don’t consider the cost of firing.

Malachai emerged from the trail onto the picnic rock. The moonlight shield around Rain and Piper faded away in a shimmer as he strode through it, coming up beside where Rain knelt, holding an unconscious Piper across her lap. As Ashmedai and Sammael exchanged blows once more, Piper shuddered and Rain’s arms tightened.

Hands in his pockets, Malachai gazed down at Piper. He watched as her face drained of color and the Warp mark on her outflung arm shone with blood. Because she hadn’t officially accepted a job as an Anchor, she hadn’t been fitted with the Void Augment that would have, among other things, served as a breaker for the power pulled through her. All proper Anchors had one. Without one, bonded to something as power-ravenous as Ashmedai—

With a sob in her voice, Rain said, “She’s dying. Their bond isn’t strong enough. I should have…. I should have…”

Once again, Malachai looked up at the night sky. He could tell at a glance that Ashmedai wasn’t winning. In another situation, it might have been a matter of  _ yet _ . He wasn’t winning  _ yet.  _ But however weak his bond to Piper was, it was enough that he wasn’t losing, either.

It was the kind of choice that Malachai, when bored, delighted in presenting to others. There was such  _ entertainment _ in watching people make difficult choices.

And yet this one wasn’t hard for him at all. The very ease of it threw him back to his earliest memories: when he’d been cursed as an enemy equal to Sammael, until a man had died to chain him to the Ark’s protection. Through everything he’d experienced after with the Ark’s staff, he’d believed in that chain. Believed it pulled him above his truest, basest self. Believed he’d changed, learned,  _ become _ something a dead man had dreamt he could be.

All lies. He’d told them to himself as part of a game that had  _ entertained _ him.

But Piper lay before him dying, and he admitted the lies for what they were: excuses. Self-imposed limitations. A daydream inspired by a man he’d once cared for. But the truth was, he’d spent most of the day fighting to protect her, and it was the most honest he’d been in years.

Until now.

He bent down and stroked her pain-furrowed brow. Her forehead was very cool. And as his skin touched hers, the Anchor connection between Piper and Ashmedai wafted apart like a spiderweb in the dawn. A heartbeat later, the sun returned and the Ark’s greatest weapon for defeating Sammael fell, limp-bodied and silent, from the sky.

With an incoherent cry, Rain thrust Piper at Malachai as she rose to her feet and dashed to where Ashmedai fell. Above them, Sammael recoiled in shock at the collapse of his younger brother. Then he caught himself and scanned the ground. His gaze stopped dead on Malachai as he lifted Piper into his arms, and Sammael backwinged once. Then Malachai met his gaze and Sammael backwinged twice, three times more before he finally came to a halt, his eyes flaming.

The mountain shook again as Ashmedai, still painted with the light that was tougher than steel, impacted on the slope above the Ark. Sammael held his position, looking down at Malachai as the crack in the sky widened behind him. A sardonic smile touched Malachai’s lips as he recognized the hard choice Sammael faced.  _ What he most seemed to want, in the arms of his enemy. _ But if he could remain as he was for long enough, his allied incarnarium would shatter Rainbow completely.

Piper shifted unconsciously toward Malachai, as she had when he’d held her that first night they’d met. As she had on the jet as they’d flown into the godstorm. He stroked her bare arm with a finger as he held her, feeling the warmth of his body growing in her. He met Sammael’s gaze the while, but it was thoughts of Piper that consumed him: her safety, her laughter, her honesty. 

He’d already betrayed Ashmedai. Compared to him, Sammael was a pest he’d swat without a second thought, if the bloody-winged angel dared come close enough.

Maybe, if enough of the blue sky fell, he would.

But alas, that wasn’t going to happen. With a carillon of bells, a riot of color spilled across the fracturing azure bowl. A giant goddess carved in prisms of light rose over the Ark, rainbows streaming from the ribbons in her hair. Anahel, chief administrator and guardian of the Ark, had finally recovered enough to activate her unique Privilege.

In one hand, she held the glaive called Dawn’s Dew. As rainbows pooled in the cracks in the sky, Anahel’s projection swung her weapon in a sparkling arc that took in the whole of their home. Her voice echoed across the mountain. “What is mine,  _ you shall not have _ .”

The bulk of the godstorm writhed as the force of Anahel’s Privilege slammed into it. The intruding incarnarium broke contact, retreating before the glittering flood could invade it as it had invaded Rainbow. Only Sammael was unfazed, holding out his hand to a plume of sparkles dancing toward him. But before the plume reached him, the stormhounds became clouds of the godstorm again, twisting around him to take him away. 

What clouds the glitter did touch dissolved into flashes of color. But as the sky finished healing, Sammael and the core of the godstorm were already gone.

  
  



	11. Chapter 9: Wonderland

The gray mist of unconsciousness choked Piper’s mind with echoes of the fear and pain that had sent her into it, until all she could do was gasp for sanity. It was pain like the pain of Sammael’s original emergence, pain like a name screamed into her mind. It went on and on, until somewhere something opened and the gray mist drained away to a scarlet darkness that was no less stifling. She’d wanted to escape, but the pain had followed her. The _past_ had followed her. Ashmedai drawing his blade had hurt that much. Every direction she turned there was pain, or the memories of pain.

A figure walked toward her in the darkness; a figure darker than black. The flames around him were gateways to the void but his eyes flashed golden. In the depths of the scarlet darkness, gold became suddenly the color of hope.

“There you are,” said Dantalion, and gentleness softened his cool voice. She felt like a small child, discovered in her hiding place by her amused grandmother. When he held out his hand to her, she felt the wash of her grandmother’s love so strongly that the memories of pain retreated for a moment.

Only for a moment, though. Before she could take his hand, the echoes of pain returned. She curled into a ball, unable to escape the essence of agony. Somewhere a male voice that carried its own chorus of suffering said, “Help her. I can’t.”

Dantalion glanced up. His brow drew together as if something wasn’t right. Staring into the scarlet darkness, he raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. 

The snap echoed, over and over again, before a cacophony of noise rushed through Piper’s mind. A phantom orchestra tuned itself, screeching and discordant, with low booms like a giant’s footfalls and the wryly mellow tones of horns and cellos. A moment later, the woodwinds broke through—and then the proto-music collapsed into a humming doorway into light. Her memories of fear lightened, as if the hum of the door overwrote them.

“Well?” said Dantalion. “Go on.”

But Piper was afraid. “What if I wake up and it hurts more?”

The dark angel with the hat like her grandmother’s studied her with those golden eyes. “You’re not ready to wake up. You have something else to do first.”

Drawing back warily, Piper said, “What?”

He nodded toward the door. “You can go through there and find out. Or you can stay here and wait. Either way, you’re deciding the future.” With a nod, he turned and faded back into the darkness.

“Hey!” called Piper. “Come back!” It had worked the last time she dreamt of him, but this time he didn’t return. She thought wistfully of Anahel, who wanted to tell her the truth and kept being interrupted. Piper felt certain the administrator wouldn’t have said such mysterious things before vanishing into clouds of sleep.

Just in case Dantalion still listened somewhere, she announced, “It would serve you right if I just stayed here.” She inspected the glowing door. The light radiating from it revealed nothing of the other side. It was a very annoying dream effect.

“I keep making the wrong choices,” she muttered, and thought of the godstorm where she’d met Malachai, and worried more about losing her grandmother’s hat than losing equipment she couldn’t afford to replace. Had that been a wrong choice? She still didn’t regret it.

The hat dropped from above to land on her head. She caught it and pulled it down tightly, staring fixedly at the light. She’d made a lot of choices lately. One by one, they’d led her to a mountainside in the sky, where an angel with moonshadow wings had pulled his sword through her heart.

She really wished he hadn’t done that. If that was being an Anchor, she didn’t think she could bear it. Even the memory of the pain was too much, until the orchestra tuned it into silence again. Once the humming had returned, she huddled, staring at the exit. She wanted to move forward. She wanted to see what was on the other side. 

Besides, between the different pains inflicted by Ashmedai and Malachai, how much worse could it get? Defiantly, before her wandering mind could propose all the varied answers to that rhetorical question, she stepped forward, through the door of light.

Brightness glared on the other side, but a brightness that quickly resolved into a place that felt much more real than her scarlet darkness. Shining clouds in a blue sky illuminated a verdant hedged garden, with many varied gates interrupting the circular border. A smooth lawn, looking like nothing so much as a blank canvas, filled the space between the hedge and the central courtyard where Piper stood. At the heart of the garden, a spring bubbled out of a large stone, tumbling down the sides to fill a pool. In the distance, beyond the gates, flutes and cellos and flugelhorns murmured to themselves, like birds singing in a real garden.

Nothing at all hurt, and the relief of that was so strong that Piper gasped, drawing in sweet, fresh air that smelled of the mountainside. Instantly, the distant musical sounds hitched and changed. _Presences_ began to flicker at the closed gates: nothing she could see or even really hear— but _presences_ , just the same, appearing and running away again.

“Hello?” said Piper. After nothing responded, she circled the spring and inspected the rest of the garden. Except for the structure and material of each gate, it was almost unvaried. She found a single outlet from the spring’s pool: an almost dry stream bed where the water had just recently begun to flow again. She watched the trickle for a moment, following it with her gaze to where it vanished through a small ungated opening in the hedge.

“Dantalion?” she called, because this was obviously still a dream, no matter how real it felt. Somewhere, a double bass played a fragment of melody, but it emerged and was muted back into the general noise before she really processed it. There was no other response.

Then a familiar voice said, “There are no tour guides here, my pet. You’ll have to pick your own path.” 

Piper looked around wildly, recognizing in the voice both the one who had spoken to her on the picnic, and the one who had laughed when Alice collapsed. Under the voice she heard the plucking of metal strings. Nearby, a gate of filigreed gold had opened.

The voice emerged from a cloud of glowing motes floating beside her, brilliant even under the cloudshine. They twirled around each other, forming a double column and then a spiral that danced into a sphere. _Twelve,_ she thought, and wondered if that was meaningful.

“This is Wonderland,” she told the motes.

The twelve motes came to encircle her head, spinning so rapidly they became a circle. “Are you fond of stating the obvious? We’ll have to work on that.”

Piper sat in the warm grass, leaning back on her palms. “Sometimes it’s very helpful. A lot of people work really hard at ignoring it.”

The motes followed her down, gathering in a cluster on her nose. “You have your own armor, I see.”

She didn’t know what Twelve Motes meant exactly, but she did feel better, she realized. Something about the sardonic voice had calmed her. She felt like she knew how to handle it here and now, even though she hadn’t when she was awake.

“Why did you laugh when Alice got upset? Do you dislike her?”

Twelve sprang off her nose in a fanlike array. “Not even I can dislike Alice. As for why… explore a little, and perhaps you’ll learn something.”

“Fair enough.” She bounced to her feet. “And you’ll come with me.”

“There you go again,” murmured the voice, as the motes formed a bracelet about her wrist.

Piper wrinkled her nose and walked along the trickle in the stream bed. She couldn’t understand why the waterway was so empty. The pool was full to the brim, but only a fraction of the possible flow emerged from the curved lip, though it seemed to be steadily, if slowly, growing. The fluid didn’t behave like water, even though it looked exactly like it.

At the tall hedge, she found a small dam-like construct over the stream. It looked freshly built and out of place: poured concrete and shining steel, with gratuitous lines of light. Piper disapproved immediately of the aesthetics, but at least it was open, allowing the not-water to flow through. A small footpath ran beside the stream, while the high hedges loomed on both sides. She crouched next to the dam to examine it, then sniffed disapprovingly and walked past. 

With a note of amusement in the metal strings, Twelve Motes said, “A compromise. You disapprove?”

“Obviously,” she said loftily, and Twelve Motes laughed aloud.

The stream and path ran straight until she came to a T junction where a small, irregular pool swirled around rocks that forced the flow from her end to bend down the stem of the T. Another trickle of water came from the other arm of the T, but it was barely more than seepage through the rocks. Compared to it, the water from her end was a raging river.

Piper hesitated, looking down both the stem and the other arm. The motes encircling her wrist offered her no advice, but she hadn’t really expected them to. Finally, she said, “I suppose I can probably go both directions,” and started down the stem.

“Tsk,” said Twelve. “At least before you spoke with confidence.”

If she said something really egregiously wrong, would Twelve be able to resist mocking her about it? Piper didn’t think so. They seemed like they could be reliably counted on to criticize that which displeased them. In this strange place, it was an oddly comforting understanding.

The stem wasn’t long, but the path ended in a thorny bramble that didn’t fit the manicured hedges and lawns she’d seen so far. The stream ran under the overgrowth, but there was no way for Piper to do so. She carefully moved some leaves this way and that, trying to see what was beyond. She caught a glimpse of more green hedges and gray stone, and heard the whisper of wind across strings, but that was all.

More frustrated than she expected to be, she twisted her fingers together. It didn’t seem right that the bramble should be here, and she thought wistfully about a machete. When none manifested, she lifted her mote-twined wrist. “What’s on the other side of the thorns?”

“A sulky child afraid of sharing his secrets,” said Twelve dryly. “Not nearly as interesting as he hopes.”

“You could have said and saved yourself the boredom,” pointed out Piper, and turned around and went back to the T-junction.

“If you’d listened, I would have been embarrassed for you. I do have certain expectations of an Anchor, my pet.”

The other arm of the T went on as long as the original arm had, and eventually opened onto a hedge maze surrounded by a pavement. The maze itself was vast and as Piper swiveled her head to look at the far outside corners, a sense of deja vu swept over her.

“Walls,” she muttered, and then began to circle the labyrinth, ignoring Twelve’s tsk. She saw that this garden also had many gates in the border, although most of these were open. Enough matched the gates in her garden that she thought she understood. She also found many, many breaks in the hedge with waterways: canals, streams like her sole waterway, twisty creeks. All of them were barely damp. The tiniest trickle of water seeped under the labyrinth’s green walls, enough to keep the bed wet, but not enough to quench a gnat’s thirst.

Finally, she returned to the labyrinth’s entrance and stared down the many-forked path as it gently curved away. “I’m not going to solve that right now.”

“Oh?” said Twelve, finally sounding interested. “Go on.”

“I can see that I’ll have to solve it eventually, if nobody else can do anything. But I’d like to be a little better prepared.”

“And what sort of preparation do you think you can do for Alice’s Labyrinth?” asked the motes silkily.

Instead of answering, Piper turned and went back to her garden. When she was once again in the circular expanse of clipped lawn, she pulled off her grandmother’s hat and poked her finger into the pockets around the crown. In one of them, she found an acorn that she’d once stuck there in the waking world. She sniffed it, inhaling its faint, unique scent, and then knelt down to twist a hole down into the turf.

The motes came off her wrist to watch as she worked at planting the acorn. Even for a semi-dream, digging with just her fingers was a little bit challenging. “I explored, but I still don’t know why you laughed when Alice put her labyrinth up. All those poor angels who relied on her must be suffering so much.” She remembered how Ashmedai had fallen, and the anguish in his voice as he’d reached out to her.

“ _Them_ , _”_ said Twelve with disdain. Piper wondered if they’d be in any better shape if they’d been incarnated when Alice withdrew, but decided the question would probably just annoy the motes. Instead she focused on her digging, clearing out the root structures around where she’d planted the acorn.

After a moment of silence, the motes spiraled around her head. “It’s delightful that the so-called Red Queen has lost her primary excuse for not embodying me. How could I not laugh? I’ll laugh when I incarnate, too.”

“You really think that will happen now?” asked Piper, aware she knew nothing about the incarnation or embodying process. “Even with Alice down?”

The motes twined around a lock of her fair hair that hung in her face, shining like hidden diamonds. “Do you really think that acorn will grow?”

“Oh yes,” she said, far more assured. “It’ll grow. The question is, how fast? And I think… pretty fast. If this is Wonderland. My part of Wonderland, I mean.” She patted the earth over the acorn and then went and got a double handful of water to spatter on the soil. “So why do you think you’re going to be incarnated now? I don’t even know what happened once I passed out, although I guess I didn’t die and I didn’t get taken away from the Ark.”

“The other incarnarium withdrew when Anahel rose to the defense,” said Twelve, with a smugness she didn’t even try to understand. “But not very far. It’s right outside Rainbow, readying for another attack.”

Piper winced at a flash of remembered pain. “I can’t… I can’t do what I did with Ashmedai again.”

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. Once I’m incarnated, I’ll take care of _everything_. Including you.” Once again, Twelve encircled her head, humming to themselves.

Pulling her knees up to her chest, Piper rested her chin there. She had serious doubts about Twelve’s claim, but given the limits of her knowledge, there was really no point in bringing them up. What she actually wanted, all of a sudden, was to wake up so she could pursue her continuing education with slightly less arrogant teachers.

When the desire did not bring the action, she raised her head again and called, “Dantalion, how do I get out of here?”

“Tch,” said Twelve, with the metal strings twanging disgust. “That one. He’s practically a foreigner here.” But once again the distant double bass played a snatch of melody.

Clouds sped across the sky, moving as if in a storm, but the breeze in her garden remained gentle. Shadows began to creep across the ground.

“Of course. The true foreigner,” said Twelve sourly. “Well, it doesn’t matter. He can’t do anything lasting, not to you and not to me.” They spun up into the air and then darted through their golden gate. As the breeze finally picked up and the temperature dropped, a loud crack came from the pool. High in the sky came the breathy trill of an alto recorder, perfectly tuned, as ice crept through the water and up the stone, until finally the spring itself froze over.

Every gate was closed and locked now, with only darkness beyond them. The stream leading to Ashmedai’s bramble dried. Piper scrambled to her feet, alarmed, as the wind began to whip around her. But it wasn’t like being in a godstorm. This wind circled her, plucking at her clothes now and then but leaving her hair untangled, her eyes unstung. She looked up into the sky, searching for the source of the woodwind music, and found only twilight.

The garden broke apart around her, flinging her into night.

She was asleep.

She was awake, and in a bed, with voices speaking near her. It smelled of an infirmary, all antiseptic and special tools.

Piper opened her eyes, and met Malachai’s gaze as he held her hand.


	12. Chapter 10: Chains of Flowers

(last week: after being knocked unconscious by the pain of Ashmedai’s battle with Sammael, Piper went exploring the psychic landscape called Wonderland, finding where Alice had retreated to and meeting a curious entity she dubbed Twelve.)

Piper woke up in an infirmary bed and Malachai was holding her hand in both of his. She met his brown eyes and remembered that night they’d spent together during the godstorm, when his touch had soothed her nightmares. What had been a fond memory, one of the foundations of her trust, twisted as she understood what had happened. He’d turned off her Warp, that was all. It hadn’t been anything special at all.

She couldn’t let herself remember how he’d held her the rest of the night.

Malachai smiled at her, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “Welcome back.”

She tugged on her hand as she sat up. He promptly released it and pulled on a pair of brown leather gloves as she looked around. Dantalion stood next to a steel examining table, a look of annoyance on his face as Raphael moved around him, her long strawberry braid swinging at her hip as she prodded him both with her fingers and some instrument. The healer didn’t even come up to his chin.

Ashmedai lay in another bed like her own, a blanket pulled half over him and one arm flung over his face. Sensors dotted his bare chest and his arm, and ran to a machine with a softly glowing sphere at its heart.

“Did he lose?” Piper asked Malachai softly.

His smile remained as he shrugged. “He fought well but he couldn’t have won with you as his anchor.” The cheer that bubbled under his voice seemed insane. She’d suffered all that pain for nothing.

But, Piper reflected wryly, mad cheer was better than blame. And she was still alive. He’d brought her here to be a gardener, and she was a good gardener. If she wasn’t a good Anchor--

“Miss Jones,” said Raphael. “I’ll be with you shortly. This one avoids his checkups.” She poked Dantalion again and he grimaced even as his gaze met Piper’s. 

Narrowing her eyes, she decided she’d been right in her pre-picnic dream: there was something going on with Dantalion when it came to Raphael. Somehow she could read it in his body language: the lines around his eyes, the twitch of his fingers, the way he stood, the way he sighed. It all translated for her into impatience, reserve, and an old pain he never wanted Raphael to know about.

And Raphael, too, Piper could read. She inspected her patient, almost entirely focused on him: concerned about what he hid from her, puzzled as to why he bothered, and very pleased he was healing. She concealed nothing of herself, while Dantalion concealed almost everything, and the disparity bothered the healer, just a little.

The strange, deep familiarity comforted Piper at first, before she realized what it was. They felt like old friends, people she’d known since childhood, people she could read just by watching them move. But she could read Ashmedai and Malachai the same way and she wasn’t looking at them at all. It wasn’t what she’d imagined a Warp sensitivity would feel like—but that was what it was, all the same.

In another situation she would have laughed, because there was joy in discovering you had something you’d learned to accept as missing. But what she felt from both Ashmedai and Malachai erased any such feeling. Ashmedai was barely conscious, but so deeply unhappy that she worried for his mental health, while Malachai…

Piper couldn’t help looking at him again. Something awful was buried under his little smile, something dark and chaotic. Something that would have frightened her away from him immediately if she’d detected it then.

It frightened her now, and she looked away, back at Dantalion, who felt far safer to her. Without thinking, she said, “Thank you for your help today,” and only belatedly remembered her plan to wait for him to confirm the truth of the dreams first.

But he gave her a professional nod, and it did something toward balancing the chaos beating against her other side.

Malachai’s chaos shifted a little, and she wondered if he’d touch her again. Despite everything, a small, insistent part of her hoped so. Despite every rational thought, despite her sense of self-preservation, her body still only associated his touch with pleasant things.

But instead Malachai stood. “I’ll be with Ashmedai if you need me.”

“Oh!” Piper remembered a trickle of water in her Wonderland garden and thought she understood the gloves. “Do you disconnect them when you touch them? Or is it only me?”

His smile widened even as his eyes glinted. “It’s your ability, not theirs. Touching Ashmedai won’t change your connection.”

“Your turn, Miss Jones. You have been resting for seventeen hours, which is an adequate night’s sleep in your condition.” Raphael picked up Piper’s left hand as Malachai moved away, and began unwrapping a bandage Piper hadn’t realized she had. It wound all the way up her forearm. “However, I must speak with you about the consequences of your decision to form an emergency bond with Ashmedai.”

As the healer unwound the bandage, Piper flexed her fingers and realized something had been done to her hand. A purple design reminiscent of her Warp mark had been embedded in the back. It felt stiff and alien as she made a fist, but it didn’t hurt.

“As it adapts to you, it will become less obtrusive, more natural,” said Raphael. “I understand the other Anchors barely notice it these days.”

“What is it?” Whatever it was, she wasn’t happy about it. Implanted in her without permission? So obvious and strange? And yet if it was the only artifact of that agony before— But even the memory of the pain was too much, interrupting her entire train of thought.

“A void augment. It has several functions. The most pertinent one right now is protective. The usual procedure is to install the void augment _before_ forming a bond with a void angel, so that what happened to you does not occur.” The dry note in Raphael’s voice overlaid real concern. “As it is, your Warp circuit must be rested for some time or you’ll hurt yourself again.”

She finished unwinding the red-tinged bandage from Piper’s forearm and a faint stinging made Piper touch her Warp mark. It ached, just a little, and she could feel the raised ridges of tiny scabs.

“Yes,” said Raphael, clearly annoyed. “That alone resists my healing. But time and your own body will do the job eventually.”

“So I wasn’t supposed to hurt so much? What happened?” She pressed on the mark, feeling the soreness, until Raphael stopped her with cool fingers like she was the one feeling the pain.

“Please don’t irritate it. As for what happened, you aren’t 100% synchronized with Ashmedai. Despite this, he engaged in a maneuver that requires either perfect synchronization or an Anchor with a charged void augment. If…” Raphael hesitated, looking across the infirmary at where Malachai stood beside Ashmedai. Dantalion had joined them.

Once again, Piper could detect the healer’s puzzlement and concern. “What is it?”

“You could have died,” Raphael said, looking back at her. “You were very lucky.”

“I see,” said Piper quietly, and thought about the angel she’d bonded with. His decision to do something that would hurt her so badly was indeed very puzzling. It didn’t quite fit together. He’d been gentle after forming the bond, and he’d taken special pains to protect her. He clearly hadn’t _intended_ on risking her, so what had happened?

“What else does the void augment do?” she asked. And then, watching Malachai, and because she couldn’t prevent herself, she said, “Or am I not yet allowed to know?”

Malachai turned to look at her, a line creasing his brow and his face otherwise blank. 

“The very idea of concealing information about your own body is rubbish,” declared Raphael, so firmly Piper couldn’t help but pay attention. “A void augment serves three primary functions. It interrupts the draw from an angel when it threatens your health; it carries up to three charges that can empower an angel’s most costly abilities, and if an angel falls on a mission, it can preserve their core essence until they can be reconstituted here.” She patted Piper’s hand. “Now, I would like you to rise and dress for the next stage of your treatment. Your clothing is behind that screen.” She nodded at a folding screen arranged beside Piper’s bed.

After Raphael helped her from the bed—the medical angel was astonishingly strong—Piper followed instructions, changing from the infirmary pajamas she’d been wearing to fresh clothing fetched from her room. Whomever had done so had included her hat. The thought touched Piper’s heart until she realized it had probably been Malachai, and then she didn’t know how to feel.

When she came around the screen, Dantalion had left and Raphael had joined Malachai beside Ashmedai’s bed. Piper stayed politely beside her own bed until Raphael glanced at her. “Is something the matter? Come here. You are Ashmedai’s Anchor now, and so you are the closest concerned in his medical care.”

Bemused, Piper joined them, asking softly, “Is he awake?”

Ashmedai lowered his arm from his face, regarding her with shadowed eyes. He didn’t say anything.

“Physically, he is recuperating,” said Raphael. “Emotionally, the encounter with Sammael seems to have left wounds I cannot easily treat. I am hoping your connection will provide me with some insight.” 

On her far side, near Ashmedai’s feet, Malachai leaned his hip against the bed rail. Chaos, chaos on the inside but he wore a small smile like everything amused him. “You’re always in such a hurry, Raphael. He had a _really_ hard time yesterday, the poor guy.”

“I can’t imagine who you think you’re helping with an attitude like that, Malachai,” said Raphael tartly.

Piper watched as Ashmedai’s gaze flew angrily to Malachai when he spoke and remained there as Raphael answered him. She barely knew him. She could read his mood, but she simply had no way of understanding the source of it other than old fashioned communication. If he wasn’t inclined to talk about his problem, she wasn’t inclined to push him. But the weight of Raphael’s expectation that she’d involve herself was almost staggering. She had to say _something._

“When you pulled your sword out, it really hurt.” Her voice caught and her chest tightened. It wasn’t what she’d intended to say, but it was her strongest association with him now.

Ashmedai’s face twisted as he looked back at her. “Don’t you think I know that?”

Piper hesitated, glancing at Raphael, expecting her to disapprove. But the other woman only tilted her head encouragingly, as if she found this just as acceptable as more soothing words.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I want to believe you wouldn’t have done it if you’d known.”

He put his arm over his eyes again. “I needed to win.”

That hurt too. Not like the sword had hurt. It was a far older, more familiar pain, the pain of not mattering enough. It was a normal pain, a cold pain, and Piper was used to it. 

“Oh,” she said, and turned away. She wondered if bonds could be cancelled as easily as they were formed. Later, when she understood more and didn’t hurt so much, she’d look into that.

“Piper—Miss Jones,” Ashmedai said, her name rushing out of him. When she looked back, Raphael was preventing him from fully sitting up with a single palm on his chest. Piper met his gaze and could see his thoughts churning. He wanted to tell her something, something important. Something central to who he was.

Then he sagged back again. “That’s all. I needed to win. But I’m sorry I hurt you, and I promise that as long as we’re bonded, it won’t happen again.”

She regarded him steadily, once again feeling like she knew a stranger like the back of her hand. “Unless it’s to win.”

He closed his eyes. “Yes. You understand.”

Once again, Piper turned away from him, walking quickly and unsteadily back to her own bed, where she stared blindly down at the rumpled sheet. It was a cold pain. She understood, all right. She couldn’t even say he was wrong. He would sacrifice her to defeat Sammael if he had to, and she couldn’t even be confident that wasn’t the right decision.

“How synchronized are we, anyhow?” she asked the sheet. 

Raphael, joining her and touching the back of her hand, said, “You and Ashmedai? 83%. Quite respectable; even without your unique gifts you would have made a suitable partner for him.” She hesitated. “It was not wrong of you to bond with him, you understand. If you hadn’t, he would be like all the other angels Alice anchors: comatose in his own quarters. And we will no doubt need him in the coming days.”

Piper winced a little, remembering Ashmedai’s fall, and his desperation. When she didn’t say anything, Raphael said, “Malachai, please take Miss Jones to the tropical garden.”

“What? Me? Why?” asked Malachai, startled.

“You brought her here with promises you have not kept. And the tropical garden will be therapeutic for her Warp circuit, even considering its deficiencies.” Raphael somehow managed to convey a threat in the single step she took toward Malachai. Piper, trying to pull herself together, was impressed.

Malachai didn’t seem to be, though. He smiled instead. “Ah yes. Unfortunately, I’ve been banned from being alone with her. You’ll have to find somebody else.”

Raphael’s eyes narrowed. “You _will_ do this, Malachai Beckett.” The _or else_ was implicit.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he said, spreading his hands. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. I’ll run any other errand you want. But Sajan really did forbid me to speak with her alone and can you imagine _me_ doing the guide thing while not talking?”

_That didn’t stop you the other night_ , Piper almost pointed out, wondering what had changed. But she wanted to get out of the infirmary and see growing things far more than she wanted to participate in this wrangle. “Can’t somebody else guide me? Maybe the Red Queen? All I really need are directions.”

From a console in the middle of the infirmary, the Red Queen’s voice said, “I’m busy. But Rain will do it.”

Just as she said that, the infirmary door opened and Rain stepped in. “Oh!” she said, her eyes widening as she saw Piper. “You’re awake.”

The Red Queen said, “The doctor has prescribed the tropical garden, Rain. Take Miss Jones there.”

As Rain blinked, Raphael said thoughtfully, “Yes, that will also do.”

“I’d like that,” agreed Piper, moving to the door. “Um, unless you were coming about a problem?”

Shaking her head, Rain said, “I was coming to check on you and…” Her gaze went to Ashmedai’s bed as she trailed off before snapping back to Piper. “I’m so, so happy you’re walking around.” Her gaze went to Piper’s new void augment and she hesitated a moment before saying, “Come on.”

As they walked down the corridor together, Rain said, “Will you tell me how Ashmedai is doing? I… I meant to ask. But he was awake?”

Piper gave her a sidelong look, keenly aware of her inability to sense Rain the same way she sensed the angels, and kind of enjoying it. “Raphael says he’s recovering physically. But he’s in a pretty bad mood.”

Rain’s face darkened and her voice was heated as she said, “Good. He shouldn’t have done what he did to you.”

Fascinated by the unexpected strength of Rain’s reaction, Piper said, “He thought he could win.”

“So what? That’s no excuse. Protecting you was one thing but nobody asked him to defeat Sammael in the middle of Rainbow. He was being a selfish dumbass and he _deserves_ to feel bad. _God_ , I’m glad you’re okay.” She glanced at Piper for a moment. “Don’t you dare go forgiving him, either. Or if you are, tell me now. I don’t need another friend with a death wish.”

Warmth chased away the remnants of the cold pain Ashmedai had caused. “I’m having second thoughts. When this is over… well… I want to see what happens. But no. I’m not forgiving him.”

“Good.” Rain stalked along in silence for a few moments, turning left and then right in the maze of the Ark. 

As they turned left again, Piper thought of Alice’s labyrinth for the first time since waking up. “Can I ask you something?” When Rain gave her an inquiring look, she went on, “Do you know about the unincarnated angels in Wonderland?”

“Sure. Not personally, but I’ve seen all the files a thousand times.”

“Well, I met one…” 

The voice of the Red Queen emanated from above them, sharp and hard. “Who?”

Piper jumped, looking up. “Oh! You’re still here.”

“I’m almost everywhere, and I’m extremely busy right now, Miss Jones. Stop wasting my time and instead tell me who violated my protection.”

“Um. It was, um…. twelve motes of light? I thought of them as Twelve, anyhow.”

“Oh. Him.” The Red Queen’s voice went so flat and dour that Piper, feeling cowed, reconsidered talking about him. 

Instead, timidly, she asked, “Is he bad news?”

“He’s trouble,” said the Red Queen in the same voice.

“Because he said things and I don’t know if they’re true. He seemed to have a… very inflated idea of his own abilities.”

After a pause, the Red Queen said begrudgingly, “You’ll find, Miss Jones, that one of the most annoying things about Twelve is that he’s usually right.”

That felt like encouragement, so Piper went on. “Well, he said you’d have to incarnate him now. Because of what happened to Alice, and the incarnarium outside of Rainbow.”

“Did he? Hmm.” The Red Queen’s voice became meditative. “Ugh. That’s…. a possibility, but harder than he thinks. Thank you for telling me. I’ll have to evaluate the idea. I’m going back to work now.”

“Wow,” said Rain, as they started walking again. “She’s really stressed. She _despises_ Twelve. So, uh, my turn. What was up in the infirmary when I came in? Raphael looked like she was about to execute Mal.”

Quickly, Piper outlined the disagreement, concluding with, “I have no idea why he really refused, but I’m glad you came along.”

Rain’s pace slowed as she gave Piper a look from the corner of her eye. “The thing about Malachai is that it’s easier to deal with him if he thinks you hate him. He’s the worst to people who obviously like him. He uses them the most, he abuses them the most, he just pays the most attention to them. If you hate him, he stays away most of the time because he knows you’re not going to put up with his _bullshit, Malachai.”_ They rounded a corner as Rain finished, raising her voice on her final words.

Malachai leaned on a glass door with foliage on the other side, reading a packet of papers with every appearance of interest. He raised his gaze. “Oh, Rain. You think I’ve been leaving you alone because I was afraid, instead out of the kindness of my heart. But I’ve been thinking, we should really have a talk.”

“Go to hell,” snapped Rain.

Quietly he tapped the packet of papers against his palm. They were just angled so Piper and Rain could see the graph on the first page. It meant nothing to Piper but when she glanced at Rain, the other young woman’s eyes were very wide.

“Mal, don’t. Please.”

In response, he raised one eyebrow. “Don’t what?”

Rain scowled. “You’re not always right, you know. This is going to be one of your mistakes.”

The look Malachai gave her radiated polite disbelief, before he transferred his attention to Piper. “So, Miss Jones, have you seen a Warp circuit waveform yet? Or a void angel synchronization target?”

Rain gave an incoherent cry, snatched the papers from Malachai’s hand, and fled down the hall. Malachai watched her in calm interest until she vanished around a corner. “It turns out you can get a pretty good approximation of how well—”

Piper, watching the exchange with confusion and then shock, pulled herself together. “Mal, stop. Don’t… don’t do whatever you’re doing. Don’t hurt her.”

Malachai’s mouth snapped shut. For a moment the chaos beneath his dark composure swirled into a unified feeling, and she knew the look of disgust on his face was absolutely true. “Oh, _fine._ You’re the worst, do you know that? Come and see your garden already.”

Piper looked through the door he opened, smelling the greenery and the water within. Torn, she said, “I want to go after Rain—”

“No, don’t bother. You’re the last person she wants to see right now, and you’ll never find her.” He gave her a narrow-eyed, unamused look.

“Me? But she said I was her friend—”

With a snort, Malachai said, “That’s going to make it worse. And if you ask me why, I’ll tell you, which is exactly what you just stopped me from doing.”

Piper blew out her breath and walked past him into the tropical garden. Her gaze swept over the stands of plants, the hanging baskets, the half-installed, overgrown raised beds, seeing it all and internalizing very little of it. As the door closed, she whirled around. Malachai stood just behind her.

She demanded, “Why did you argue with Raphael if you were just going to show up here anyhow?”

“I wanted credit for being a good boy,” he said with a shrug.

Piper narrowed her eyes. “Liar.”

He grimaced and caught her chin in his gloved hand, leaning down to press his forehead against hers and shifting her hat back. His scent tickled her nose, mixing with the greenery.

Piper caught her breath as her Warp-based sense of him vanished. Her sense of all the other more distant angels faded into silence, along with the background murmur she now associated with Wonderland. But it was a silence that affected more than just her now. She whispered, “Ashmedai.”

“The baby is sleeping,” Malachai said shortly. “Or might as well be. When he stops sulking, I’ll start taking him into account.” His gloved fingers slid delicately along her jaw as his brown eyes looked into hers. “I don’t know if I like this Warp of yours, after all. You’re making my job very, very hard.”

Exasperated, Piper tried to lift her head away from his as she said, “You’re not subtle with your lies, you know. Everyone—”

He kissed her, his fingers sliding to the back of her neck as his mouth closed over her words. His tongue touched hers, and the truth she'd realized last time they were alone together reinforced itself. He was an asshole, a pathological liar, not even really human. When he kissed her, she didn't care. He was warm against her, and he made her feel good. And betrayals like Ashmedai’s were inevitable, so why _not_ enjoy what Malachai offered while she could?

Rain would be so disappointed in her. 

_That_ thought made her instinctively withdraw a little. He felt it and released her. As her awareness of the world—and its angels—rushed back, he had an odd little smile. He pushed her hat against her chest. “Well? Explore your garden.”

Swaying a little, Piper took her hat as she said, “What… what was that about?”

“Oh, well, I don’t expect to get another chance for quite some time.” He raised his eyes, looking past her at the long thin windows that let natural light into the indoor garden. “We’re in a bad situation, Piper. We thought you were a step forward, but now you’re a lifeboat. I can’t even get you home again until we solve this.”

Piper, who hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to go back to her little public assistance flat and unemployment, ignored that last part. “Because of that incarnarium thing just outside the gates?”

“Twelve told you that?” When she nodded, Malachai sighed. “Well, at least he’s interested. We’ve got a shot. But that’s a genie we can’t easily put back in the bottle, and he’s not going to want to let you go.” When she stared at him, hoping for more, he instead made a flicking motion with his fingers. “Garden. Therapy. Raphael already has a recuperation bed set aside with my name on it and unlike everybody else, her abilities can’t heal me. Why don’t you see what can be done with this poor garden?”

She looked around again, processing what she’d already seen. Though it was full of plant life, it _was_ a poor garden. Climbing plants twined over everything, choking the more fragile plants and blocking the light of others. Some of the tropical plants had brown leaves, with tiny white crystals in the soil. “I’m not an expert on tropical gardens—building something outside on the mountain is more what I’m used to. But I can see the basics of what to do here already.”

Walking through the large room, she stopped often to inspect individual plants or sever a particularly offensive climber stem that was on the edge of murdering its host. Malachai followed her, his hands in his pocket and a small smile on his face. For the moment, the dark chaos in him seemed distant, and she could pretend he was exactly what he projected: a young businessman who would ordinarily be faintly bored by his surroundings, but who was instead just entertained enough by her presence.

“You don’t live on a mountain,” he pointed out. 

“Oh, they’re both specialty environments and I’m trained for general city gardens, it’s true. But at least the mountainside is working with natural conditions. There’s a whole host of equipment required for a self-contained indoor tropical garden like this. I can figure it out, no problem. I just probably wouldn’t ordinarily apply for a job that focused on tending one of these.” She gave him a quick smile before returning her attention to a flamingo plant with brown tips to its leaves.

“Hello,” called a voice from the entrance, and Piper recognized it as Anahel. Remembering previous comments and suddenly feeling like an intruder, Piper gave Malachai a worried look.

He stepped close to her side, putting his gloved hand on her lower back as he said softly, “Ana’s distracted and tired right now, but she always has time to be depressed about the gardens. It’s probably just as therapeutic for her if you’re here.”

Piper thought that over and then nodded, raising her voice to call back, “Over here!”

The beautiful angel appeared around the row, her trademark rainbow sparkles flickering around her blond hair. “Oh!” she said, nonplussed. “Am I— I mean, I thought Rain was with you?”

Piper blew out her breath and eyed Malachai, who had lifted his hand from her back as soon as Anahel appeared. “She was, but Malachai chased her off.”

He stepped out from between Anahel and Piper as the angel approached, leaning against a stack of bags of peat. When Anahel gave him a long, odd look, he said, “Come on, Anahel, don’t tempt me. Piper asked me not to upset her, and I’m trying to be good.”

After another moment of staring, Anahel murmured, “I almost believe that.”

Piper, focusing on the ‘almost’, shot Malachai a triumphant look and found he was giving her his own look of triumph, probably having ignored the crucial word.

“What do you think of the garden, Piper? Do you think it can be fixed?” asked Anahel, anxiously. 

“Oh yes,” Piper reassured her. “That’s the magic of gardens. With enough time and care, any garden can be restored to function. Most plants want to grow. Sometimes, as in this case, that can even be the problem.”

She intended it as a lighthearted joke, but Anahel’s shoulders slumped. “I thought I was doing all right here, but somehow everything seems both out of control and unhealthy at the same time. I mean, look at all those brown spots. I keep feeding and watering them—”

Piper took a mental step back, re-evaluating the situation. Privately, she diagnosed the tropical garden’s primary problem as ‘too much love,’ but springing that on somebody like Anahel would only upset her. Instead she turned and walked along the row of plants again, leaving Anahel and Malachai to trail after her. “One of the things about a garden is that not all plants are welcome, and even welcome plants need their growth restrained. When you let everything grow just as it pleases, you eventually get a forest or a meadow instead. But before that, you get a plant-style horror movie, especially if you have plants from different ecosystems who have to battle it out for supremacy.” She paused and deliberately broke the stem of one of the choking climbers with her thumbnail.

Anahel audibly gasped and Malachai patted her shoulder as Piper went on. “A garden isn’t a single plant. And pruning isn’t the same as killing them. Honestly, most plants require some adversity to really thrive.” 

She came to a partially overgrown bench and dispassionately ripped off more climbers, leaving only a single vine on the point of blooming. Then she patted the bench beside her as she sat down, until Anahel sank down beside her, looking pale and traumatized. “My mentor always used to say, ‘Gardens aren’t people. They’re _for_ people.’” Piper had always liked that maxim, but Anahel’s half-shake of her head suggested that it was far too early for the angel to appreciate it.

Then, shyly, Anahel said, “That’s why I installed gardens. For the people. But you can’t make a garden grow by telling it, ‘I really want flowers!’ Believe me, I’ve tried! I can’t even get a seed to grow in a pot sometimes.”

“True. Plants have their own needs. And you never plant just one seed. Accidents happen, and not all seeds germinate. Except when they do, and then you’ve got to thin them out. You can’t get too attached. Time moves on and seasons change. The garden is what matters, and the people who use it. And sometimes trauma is what makes for the strongest seeds.” Piper looked up from the bloom she was inspecting and saw both Malachai and Anahel staring at her oddly. “What?”

The Red Queen’s voice emanated from a console completely overrun with crimson flowers. “Very educational. We need to have a briefing, people. But first… we need to talk about Alice.”


	13. Chapter 11.1: Trying Sincerity

Malachai left Piper in her room with Anahel. She wanted to shower and eat something before her meeting with the Red Queen, and he needed to talk to Rain. Before the invasion had changed everything, he would have taken steps to avoid leaving Anahel alone with Piper. But the current crisis so completely overshadowed Anahel’s previous concerns for Alice that Malachai knew he didn’t have to worry about the Administrator confiding classified information to Piper.

As he methodically looked for Rain’s latest hiding place, he thought about Piper in the tropical garden. It had been a new side of her, although one that was of a piece with everything he’d seen so far. Dantalion had encountered it too: her confidence and strong will when it came to her own turf. She’d been almost passive in how she accepted the revelations of the Ark—but he suspected that emerged from her yearning to find a place for herself rather than any weakness of spirit.

He remembered that he’d first noticed her when she gave up her spot in a storm shelter to a youth she didn’t even know. Even as isolated as she’d been, she had a fundamental generosity. But she had fire within her too. He’d seen it in her eyes as she looked at the garden, and tasted it on her lips each time he kissed her.

Annoyance bordering on anger flickered through Malachai as he thought of the government that had contributed to her isolation. The Ark had provided the means to harvest all the storm crystals required to build proper shelters for the Warped, and, at Sajan’s behest, Malachai had repeatedly encouraged laws that would protect the Warped from discrimination. And yet sometimes it seemed that the human governments lacked even his own casual concern for Warped lives.

He exhaled as he checked Rain’s crowded little office in the basement of the Ark. Empty, as he’d suspected it would be. But she wouldn’t be far. The IT department was her fortress.

The memory of Piper’s expression as she’d told him not to hurt Rain flashed before him, and he scowled. He’d only come down here because of that will underlying her generous spirit, combined with her worrying vulnerability. Somehow her concern for Rain had communicated itself to him, like a contagious disease.

After inspecting Rain’s desk for clues, he made his way to the server room down the hall. Only a few employees of the Ark could unlock the sliding glass door, and Malachai was not technically one of them. In other circumstances, he wouldn’t have let that stop him—but today he knocked, and waited patiently.

After a moment, the door slid open and he stepped into the cool, brightly lit room. Racks of servers hummed, the apparatus of the mundane intranet and some of the Red Queen’s support networks. He looked down each row until he found Rain seated on the floor at the far end of the second to last row, her dark head bent over a laptop balanced on her knees. She glanced up, giving him a black look before hunching her shoulders and pretending he wasn’t there.

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe,” he told her, strolling down the row.

Startled, she abandoned her attempt to ignore him away. “What?”

He shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets “She didn’t want to hear it.”

“Since when has that stopped you?” Rain asked scornfully. Her face really did seem designed for expressions like that. She was like the gloomiest pixie imaginable.

That thought inevitably took him to Piper’s face when she’d connected to Wonderland and he’d realized just how much she could get hurt. Her big blue eyes had dilated and then squeezed shut, a whimper of pain twisting her face. Raphael and the Red Queen had also seen it, and so he hadn’t been entirely alone on his side of the chaotic argument the senior staff had been having when Sammael had invaded, even if none of them had quite the same end goal in mind.

Almost absently, he said, “I’m hurt by your opinion of me, Rain.” Then he crouched down. “But wouldn’t it be easier for you if I did tell everybody? Then you wouldn’t have to do it yourself.”

Rain shuddered, staring at her knee. Dully, she said, “It doesn’t matter any more. She’s got the void augment now.”

Malachai’s expression hardened. He closed her laptop with one finger and she couldn’t resist meeting his gaze again. Softly, he said, “As one liar to another, you know that’s not true.”

Rain’s laptop tumbled off her lap as she kicked at him savagely. “Shut up. You don’t understand anything.”

Falling back to a sitting position, Malachai let her kick him twice and then caught her foot. “All right. Explain it to me.”

Her brows drew together as she stared at him in suspicious confusion. Malachai patted her foot and pushed it off his lap. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”

“Not about this,” Rain muttered.

“Well, you’re right,” he said calmly. “You shouldn’t.” He pulled up his knee, his thoughts buzzing and snapping like they’d been doing off and on since Piper had connected to Wonderland. Protecting the Ark, its mission and its inhabitants had been his primary focus for so long. When he’d chosen to sabotage Ashmedai by saving Piper, he’d considered it a betrayal, a return to his wicked roots.

But somehow, caring about the Ark was a hard habit to break. Scraps of plans and uncomfortable emotions kept running through his mind. He’d backed off on revealing Rain’s secret because in the chaotic fog of his warring desires, what Piper declared wrong shone like a lighthouse for him. After years of not caring, he’d finally found a boundary he didn’t want to cross.

And oh yes, havingboundaries was annoying. He disliked it intensely—and yet here he was, trying to think of other ways to push Rain into facing her little problem head on. He wanted to hear her explain the situation herself. Maybe it would bring insights. But the tricks he used to convince others to open up to him never worked on her. Possibly if he tried something new, like genuine sincerity…?

He blew out his breath. “You shouldn’t trust me, but you can trust her. That’s the problem, Rain. I want to protect her, and somehow that’s changing everything in my head.”

Rain’s eyes widened in surprise and he grimaced at her. “Never mind. Keep your secret for now. It’s not like anybody would _make_ you Anchor Ash anyhow. Come along to the staff meeting, though. You were useful before and you’ll be useful again.”

But when he started to rise, she said softly, “I’m afraid.”

Slowly he sank back down on one knee, nobly resisting the urge to tease her about being afraid of staff meetings.He’d long since learned that once somebody started talking, silence became far more productive than running his mouth.

“I mean, we saw yesterday just how careless Ash is with an Anchor.” Rain met his gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something then. When he hurt Piper I wanted to kill him, and then myself, for being so weak. But now… she’s fine. She’s got the void augment.” A smile twisted across her face. “She’s even got you on her side.”

_I’m on your side too, idiot_. But he didn’t say it. Everything had changed, and she wouldn’t believe him anyhow. Instead he studied her flushed cheeks, her slouch. “Summoning his sword wouldn’t have hurt you like it hurt her. That’s still true. Those charts—”

“I know!” said Rain, the words ripped from her chest. “I know. And you wanted to tell her that. You say nobody would make me Anchor Ash, but _you_ would, Mal.”

With the little smile he knew she hated, Mal said, “You hide yourself away down here more and more, Rain. I’m not the only one who’s noticed. But Anahel and Her Majesty are concerned with other things, and Sajan thinks you’ve served enough.”

Appalled, Rain cut in, “Do they _all_ know?”

“Nah. I mean, I’m sure Her Majesty does, or would if she bothered paying attention. But she took you out of the Looking Glass database when you asked, so I imagine for her it’s a dead end. And everybody else cares more about sheltering you than figuring out what’s wrong.”

Rain’s cheeks brightened and she covered them. “Oh, they’re… no… hah!” She stabbed a finger at him. “You make it sound like you’re only thinking about my well-being but that’s bullshit. I’ve known you from the beginning. You always use people and now you’re trying to talk me into doing something I’d hate for some reason totally unrelated to me.”

“Well, yes,” Malachai admitted. He glanced down at his gloved hands: a stop-gap measure against temptation. “Sooner or later I’m going to touch Piper again. I thought it’d be nice if Ash didn’t collapse every time I did that.”

“What do you—wait, whaaaaaat?” Rain stared at him with the same look of shock as before. The color drained from her cheeks in what he resentfully considered far too dramatic a reaction. Then, adding insult to injury, she leaned forward to check his head for fever.

He jerked his head away, but she continued staring at him, her hand dropping to her knee.

“This is a trick, right? You’re… you’re trying to convince me…” She shook her head. “This is the dumbest gambit you’ve ever tried, Mal. It’s going to backfire so hard. Are you really trying to tell me you _like_ Piper?”

Malachai ground his teeth. Rain was the only person in the Ark—in the _world_ —who treated him like he was an annoying schoolboy. “I don’t know. Do you _like_ Ashmedai, since we’ve descended to high school gossip?”

Rain’s eyes darted off to one side, and then toward the ceiling, before she looked at him again. “Maybe?”

His irritation grew at her cagey answer. “Well, for your information, no, I do not _like_ Piper. I think she’s a pain in the ass who is willing to sacrifice too much of herself just for a place to belong. She has a ridiculous, self-destructive streak of kindness. She’s dangerously sentimental, she’s trivially manipulated and she doesn’t even have the sense to be angry when she finds out. She’s _so easy_ to hurt.” He opened his clenched fist and flexed his fingers. “Unfortunately, she’s also a universal Anchor, she’s good at gardening, and she keeps letting me kiss her, all of which make everything a lot more complicated.”

Rain stared at him, open-mouthed. After a moment, she said, “Wow,” and then again, “ _Wow.”_

Sincerity had clearly been a mistake. Malachai scowled and stood up. “Oh, hush.” He reached down, grabbed Rain’s hand and jerked her to his feet. “Come to the damn meeting. Keep your secret, I don’t care. But don’t be surprised if I lock you and Ash in a room together someday for your own good.”


	14. Chapter 11.2: Over Sandwiches

When Piper emerged from her shower, toweling her hair, the Red Queen’s avatar had joined Anahel in waiting for her. A tray of wrapped sandwiches waited on the table, while Anahel sat, straight-backed and hands clasped, in the chair near the door.The Red Queen’s eyes were dull and distant.

“I’m sorry,” said Piper. “I tried to hurry—”

“Don’t apologize,” said the Red Queen firmly, her eyes brightening as she pulled her attention away from whatever else she’d been doing “If you apologize, Anahel will apologize and we’ll be here all night. Just hug or whatever you need to do and let’s get on with business.”

A smile crept over Piper’s face despite herself and she moved to take a sandwich from the tray. As she did, Anahel gave her an answering small smile, her shoulders loosening. “I made three because you haven’t really eaten for a day. Raphael can keep you healthy but that’s not really the same as _eating_.”

“Oh, you made them? Thank you!” Unwrapping the sandwich and discovering a tasty tuna salad within, Piper took a big bite.

Anahel’s hands tightened together. “Cassiel’s still unconscious because of what happened to Alice. Everybody’s sort of fending for themselves right now.”

Calmly, the Red Queen said, “They’ll reorganize. Cassiel had human assistants, and as soon as they calm down, they’ll get back to work.”

Piper glanced between Anahel and the Red Queen, swallowed a bite, and then asked, “Things are really serious, then? Everybody I’ve talked to has been so calm that I wasn’t sure…”

“Oh yes, our situation is dire, Miss Jones,” said the Red Queen. “But Anahel and I, Dantalion, Sajan, Malachai, Raphael, Rain, we’ve been in far more dire situations before. We may be trapped in Rainbow with a skeleton crew, but Rainbow itself is safe. While we sort that out, life goes on. The newer operators will figure that out soon enough.”

Piper ate the rest of her sandwich quickly, thinking about Wonderland. “And… what happened with Alice isn’t common?”

Anahel’s face darkened, her knuckles going white. “Alice hasn’t seen Sammael since… since the beginning. None of us have, Piper. His appearance now—twice now! is…” She shook her head. “Mystifying. And nobody expected Alice to react like this…” She glanced down at her hands and unwove them, frowning as she bit at a knuckle. “Although maybe we should have.”

“Alice has been extremely stable for many years,” the Red Queen said crisply. “Although she was never intended to host so many angels for so long.” A look of irritation crossed her face. “It rather undercuts the entire point of redesigning them to require Anchors.” She sighed. “But that’s another conversation. You’ve visited Wonderland, Miss Jones. What did you see?”

Piper hesitated, and then plunged forward onto what she was fairly sure was thin ice. “Can we have that other conversation first? I’ve got this thing—” she waved the hand with the purple design embedded on the back, “—and a connection with Ashmedai that could _kill_ me. And Anahel and Dantalion don’t seem to need an Anchor like he does. So I’d really like to know _why_ there’s a difference. If it’s something created purposefully, couldn’t you… change the design?”

Anahel’s teeth clicked together and the Red Queen’s expression hardened. Piper quailed internally—but she’d already asked the question. She deserved an answer.

“No. I won’t risk another Sammael,” said the Red Queen flatly. “The Anchor dependency serves as a final failsafe in case of disaster.”

At first, Piper didn’t quite understand. “So you can cut the connection somehow—” And then she stopped as the Red Queen’s expression told her exactly how the connection would be cut in such a circumstance.

Her words tumbling over each other, Anahel said, “There’s more to it than that, though! Those of us who don’t need an Anchor, our powers are kind of… orthogonal to the fabric of reality. Having an Anchor grounds the others, makes them _belong_. Lets them be strong without hurting the world.” Her voice became wistful as she said, “And it’s nice having that kind of connection, I think.”

The Red Queen’s expression thawed. “Anahel is also correct. Miss Jones, Ashmedai is one of the least stable of the early patterns. Without an Anchor, he would be exceedingly dangerous even to his friends. Even with Alice, who is not at all well-matched to him, he is far calmer and in control of himself. Bonding with you makes him more flexible and more powerful.”

“But not more stable,” said Piper stubbornly, thinking of the warrior in the infirmary bed telling her he’d hurt her because he needed to win.

The Red Queen opened a long-nailed hand as if releasing something. “Finally meeting Sammael was a transformative experience for him.”

“Yes, me too,” said Piper sharply. “Each time.” Anahel winced, but Piper kept her gaze on the Red Queen.

The avatar gave her a warm, benevolent smile. “Yes, and I must remember to praise Malachai for bringing you to us. You’re more robust than I could have hoped for.”

That smile, combined with those words, disarmed Piper utterly. “Yes, well.” She grabbed another sandwich and focused on opening it. It was ham and cheese this time. “As you said, life goes on.”

“Shall we talk about Alice now?” The Red Queen’s gaze flicked to Anahel, and Piper realized the administrator was puffing out her cheeks in annoyance. The Red Queen shook her head, just a little, and Anahel’s pout grew more pronounced.

Then, as the Red Queen heaved a sigh, Anahel said firmly, “That wasn’t right, Your Majesty.”

Dryly, she said, “What _would_ I do without you and Sajan to keep me on the straight and narrow path, Anahel?” She turned her attention to Piper, drifting closer. “Miss Jones, do you recall what I said yesterday about your inability to protect your own interests?”

Puzzled, Piper swallowed another bite of her sandwich before saying, “This is good, Anahel. And sure, I remember.”

She also remembered brooding after about her desire to take people at their word, and later, about her bad choices. But she’d moved forward, in the end. She’d chosen to enter Wonderland. And with a long rest and fresh food and a shower, she felt _better_ than she had in a long time.

“Oh! I’m so glad—but Piper, she’s trying to take advantage of how nice you are.” Anahel gave the Red Queen an angry look. “She never smiles like that at any of us.”

Piper glanced curiously at the drifting avatar. “Is she? But she’s not wrong, is she? She probably _should_ thank Mal, if you’ve had as much trouble finding Anchors as it seems. And I could be a lot more upset than I am. I _was_ for a while. But what’s the point of staying upset?” They both stared at her, and she shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, she answered my questions. I don’t think she can make Ashmedai behave better. And I don’t want a repeat of Sammael either.” She looked between them once again. “Do you _want_ me to have a tantrum?”

Anahel pulled her mouth to one side. “Personally I’d feel a lot better if you demanded more than a smile and some sandwiches from us.”

Piper reached for the third sandwich. “Well, I mean, they’re really good sandwiches,” she said, and met the smile in Anahel’s eyes with one of her own. Then, ignoring the Red Queen’s little snort, she said, “I came here hoping for a job. And it seems to me I’ve got one now. Your hiring process needs some work, but…” She shrugged and glanced down at her hand, remembering the pain of awakening as an Anchor, the pain of Ashmedai’s sword, and the smooth green canvas of her part of Wonderland. “I’m going to build you a garden, Anahel. But gardens take _time_ , and if all one focuses on is one season’s flowers, even a saint would run out of patience. So I try to enjoy right now. These sandwiches. That shower. Malachai’s…” She stopped herself. “Flowers always die in the end anyhow. That’s part of gardening too.”

The Red Queen said, “Ahem. Our hiring process for everybody other than you has gone just fine. But I’ll invite you to the committee meeting on how to improve it. Which we won’t be having until we deal with the Jabberwocky at our gates. The first step of which is deciding _what can be done about Alice._ ”

“Oh, right!” Piper pulled herself out of hazy thoughts about Malachai and gardens. “What I saw in Wonderland. I only explored a little, but I found what I think is Ashmedai’s bramble, and I found Alice’s labyrinth.”

“A labyrinth,” said the Red Queen distantly. “Hmm.”

“It looked like it was choking off the connections between her and everybody else,” added Piper. She glanced at Anahel, who was biting her knuckle again as she stared at the floor. “Does it change based on perspective?”

“Oh, to a small extent. For example, what Raphael and Anahel see right now is a wall—but the nature of the wall is personal. As for you, they can hear you, but not reach you as,” she grimaced, “Number Twelve did.”

“How about Ashmedai? And the others?” asked Piper, but she was still watching Anahel.

“Except for Ashmedai, they’ve been bricked in.” The Red Queen’s voice was crisp again, like she was giving a weather report. “Retrieving Alice and reactivating the majority of our forces is by far the easiest way of going forward. Unfortunately, we cannot simply reboot her. This labyrinth of hers must be navigated, and she must be coaxed out of her fear. Do you think you could do that, Miss Jones?”

Piper thought about the acorn she had planted in Wonderland, and then shook her head. “Not yet. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I’ll work on it—I _want_ to work on it—but like with the tropical garden, there’s stuff I need to figure out first. It may take a while.”

The Red Queen gave her another smile, and this one was cool and far more fitting to her personality. “Time we can’t afford. Thank you for such a straightforward and immediate answer. And so we move on to Plan B.” Her smile twisted like she’d bitten into something sour. “How do you feel about Anchoring Twelve?”

Cautiously, Piper asked, “Is there a Plan C?”

“There are a dozen plans, Miss Jones, but each one exposes you to more and more peril, and I’m loathe to risk you at the moment. Twelve is dangerous, but you have convinced me over sandwiches that you’ll be able to handle him.” This time, her smile had teeth. “In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

After considering for a moment, Piper said, “What exactly would be involved?”


	15. 11.3: Emergency Mission

When Anahel and Piper entered the Borogove Briefing Chamber, which looked a lot more like a high-tech lecture hall than a meeting room, they found it already half-full of people. Piper recognized almost none of them: Sajan in the first row, Raphael beside him, and Dantalion lurking against the far wall in his own shadow. Everybody else was human.

No, not everybody. Malachai lounged in the highest tier. Rain sat exactly two seats over, looking like she’d been dragged to the meeting by somebody she was now trying to pretend didn’t exist. Smiling, Piper said, “I’m going to sit up there.”

Anahel followed her gaze. “Oh, there’s Rain. I’ll come too. There’s lots of empty seats!” 

They climbed the tiers together, and Piper noticed how Malachai’s eyes flicked around the room, apparently looking at everyone but her. She was puzzled for a step and then let it go, focusing on Rain.

But, face twisted in a scowl, the black-haired girl was also looking at the audience instead—and only then did Piper realize it  _ was _ an audience. The murmur of a pre-meeting crowd hadn’t changed, but she could feel the eyes on her. 

His hands behind his head, Malachai smiled slowly. She could feel the malice unfolding within him and wondered apprehensively if she needed to duck. 

Out of her peripheral vision she saw a wave of movement as heads swiveled away from her. Then Malachai looked at her and his expression morphed into that mischievous grin she associated with the word ‘offshore’.

Piper hesitated, wondering if she’d been misreading his expression the moment before. Or perhaps that delighted smile was just another tool. 

_ Probably _ . Another good memory of this man called into doubt. And the dark chaos she’d detected before the tropical garden was back.

Despite that, when his eyebrows went up and his grin widened into sheer exuberance, her own mouth twitched into an answering smile. Then she sat down in the empty chair between him and Rain and turned toward the other woman.

Anahel settled on Rain’s other side as she slouched back in her chair.

“Are you all right?” asked Piper. “I wanted to go after you, but he said it wouldn’t help. Tell me he was wrong and I’ll never listen to him again.”

Rain winced and then blew out her breath, lifting a fine strand of dark hair away from her face. “I’m okay now. And that’s a really tempting offer, but nah.” Her gaze slid sideways, past Piper to Malachai. “I’m not that cruel. He was right.”

“Yes,” Anahel declared. “It’s very frustrating how sometimes he’s absolutely trustworthy but you can’t ever guess when.”

Piper considered the problem for a moment before saying, “I’d guess it’s whenever it gets him what he wants. The trick is figuring out what that is. But forget about him. Was everybody looking at me just now?”

“Yep,” said Rain, with a grim sort of satisfaction, as if they’d lived down to her expectations.

“It’s just because you’re new,” said Anahel hurriedly. “Everybody’s really very nice and once they get to know you—”

“It’s because you Anchored Ashmedai,” put in Rain, still with that grim little smile. 

“Oh, well, that too,” agreed Anahel in a small voice.

Piper looked over the backs of heads below her nervously. She’d never had much trouble adapting to hostile social groups, but it was more effort than she could really afford right now.

Rain glanced at Piper and sat forward. “Hey, they won’t bother you or anything. It just means you’re important. Special.”

The recent consequences of being special flashed through Piper’s mind and she muttered, “Golly, thanks.”

Rain’s mouth twisted and she threw herself back in her chair again. Piper looked at her hands in her lap and listened with half an ear as Anahel began to tell Rain about the tropical garden. She could feel the line of Malachai’s body on her other side, feel his dark chaos shifting slowly. She could sense Anahel as well; she felt like a lace parasol with holes beginning to fray through it.

As she looked up, Rain seemed to sense the same thing through more mundane means. “Sideline the garden chat, Ana,” she said, and pushed a lock of sparkling blond hair behind Anahel’s ear. It was a movement that told Piper more eloquently than words how well the two others knew each other. “How are  _ you _ doing? Should you even be here right now?” Rain’s voice became disapproving. “You should be resting while you can.”

Anahel ducked her head and then caught and pushed back the same lock of hair herself. “I’m… I’m okay, really.” She glanced up and added, “I’m being honest! It was a shock when… It was a big shock, and it definitely took some power to shove them out, but I’m not exhausted by any means. Besides, I can’t rest. Every time I try, I keep thinking about Alice and the others.”

“Eh, you don’t need to worry about them, Ana,” said Malachai behind Piper. “They’ll be fine.”

Anahel sent a reproachful look over Piper’s shoulder. “You just want me to take a nap.”

“Correct!” said Malachai so cheerfully that Piper once again smiled despite herself. “Oops, here’s Her Majesty. We’d better shush or else.”

A hologram of the Red Queen had materialized on the small stage below. At the same time, the left armrest of all the occupied seats unfolded, revealing a tablet screen displaying a spinning logo.

“Everybody be silent,” commanded the Red Queen, and the remaining murmurs in the room vanished. The lights partially dimmed, while the Red Queen’s hologram glimmered with light. She surveyed the gathering. “I am aware of everybody who is playing hooky.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said somebody in the front row. “Get on with it, Your Majesty.”

Without a visible reaction to the sardonic encouragement, the Red Queen got on with it. “As of yesterday, the long-term plans of the Ark have been dramatically accelerated. Thus, everybody present has been granted a security clearance upgrade.”

Each chair’s screen cleared and some documents opened up. One of them was entitled “The Relationship between Godstorm and Incarnarium”, but the text was far too dense for Piper to grasp more than the title before the Red Queen went on speaking.

“Up until now, the Ark’s primary function has been fighting godstorms. We don’t do this because godstorms are unpleasant and dangerous, although they are. We do this because godstorms, when unchecked, eventually evolve into the phenomenon known as incarnariums.”

The Red Queen paused to let a murmur sweep the audience. “Yes, some of you remember the word from your initial orientations. An incarnarium is a pocket dimension like Rainbow: a bounded micro-world accessible from the outside world by a single point of space. Rainbow, created under controlled conditions and managed by Anahel, is stable and safe. Incarnariums evolved from godstorms are not. They are parasites on reality, slowly breaking it down.”

Her gaze wandered the crowd and then raised to Piper’s tier. “We believe at least five of these have formed and hidden themselves. The Ark’s ultimate mission is to track down and destroy them.”

_Five_ _of them._ Piper shivered, pulling a knee under herself. Movement flickered at the corner of her eye and she saw Malachai’s gloved hand, resting on the desk-like right armrest, turn palm up, fingers relaxed. _An invitation_ , she realized, and while she didn’t accept it, she felt a little less overwhelmed.

“Yesterday, one of the rogue incarnariums emerged from hiding and attacked us first. While the initial invasion was repelled, psychic shrapnel has incapacitated most of our defensive force. In addition, the foreign incarnarium, designated Jabberwocky, is blockading Rainbow’s exit point. We can’t safely leave; nor can our deployed personnel return.”

The sardonic voice from below spoke, and Piper identified the gangly man sprawled alone in the first row. “Define ‘safely’ for us, Your Majesty.”

The Red Queen lowered her gaze to fix on the man. “I tried getting a small plane out this morning. Recovering the wreckage from Rainbow’s base is now on our task list.”

“We can’t even get out?” asked another voice from the side of the room, a woman this time. “Even unsafely?”

The Red Queen merely said, “Anahel?”

Anahel flushed and sat up very straight. “It’s mobile, unlike Rainbow—that’s part of the instability—and it’s commandeered our exit point. That region is now a chaotic blend of both incarnariums.”

The gangly man said something about kissing diseases, and laughed, but he laughed alone. In the silence that fell, the Red Queen continued. “There’s no question of waiting this out. We know nothing about the intelligence, the Rex, behind this incarnarium except that it is aggressive, and holds Sammael on a leash.”

Sajan, who sounded as startled as Piper felt, said, “Not the other way around?”

Malachai’s hand closed into a fist and then moved to his pocket as the dark chaos in him intensified.

“Yes. ‘Leash’ may be the wrong word, but my observations yesterday indicate that the incarnarium Rex has significant influence over Sammael. They’ll attack again. Thus, we will now begin this collective emergency mission. Here is a broad overview of the tasks I’ll need extra hands for. Additional details will be available to assigned individuals.” 

A pointer that looked like a scepter appeared in the Red Queen’s hand, and she swung it to point at the words appearing on the screen behind her. It was a list, entitled, “Drive Off Jabberwocky.” Listed beneath were five items: Upgrade The Power Plant, Defend Rainbow From Assault, Survive For Three Days, Bonus: Gather Intel on Jabberwocky, Bonus: Initialize A New Exit Point.”

“Why do we need to upgrade the power plant?” asked a voice, and Malachai slouched lower in his chair, until he seemed almost as grumpy as Rain.

Calmly, the Red Queen said, “Because escaping the jaws that bite and the claws that catch is going to be very expensive. We’ll need to recover the downed plane as part of this task.” She pointed at the second item. “I can imagine a variety of ways to assault Rainbow, and I expect the Jabberwocky’s Rex can too. You’ll all find you’ve been issued weapons suitable to your combat experience.” 

Another murmur swept the staff, and Piper scanned the room, curious about the degree of combat experience present. Some of them looked uncomfortable and frightened at the idea, and others excited. When she glanced at Rain, Piper realized with a start that Rain had barely reacted at all. It was like the idea of fighting alien invaders was old news to her.

The Red Queen’s scepter tapped the third item. “Time is an unavoidable requirement in our current situation. You are alive and you must stay alive. Remember to eat, sleep and otherwise keep yourselves together. Do the things you need to in order to take care of each other.” There was no softness in the Red Queen’s words, no human sentiment, only the pragmatism of somebody taking care of her tools.

Piper felt the dark chaos roil next to her, thought of his previously outstretched, now pocketed hand, and made a decision. She leaned to her left just enough to bump his shoulder with her own, and then looked at him directly for the first time since she’d sat down, giving him a wide, inquiring gaze.

His eyes were dark and distant, but when he glanced at her, an absent smile flickered across his mouth. Then it became wry as his gaze met her own. He shifted his weight, sitting up more and redirecting her attention back to the Red Queen with a tilt of his head.

The scepter stroked through the final two options. “The last two items will be very helpful but not required. If you require busywork to keep yourself together, this is what you will work on.” She surveyed the audience as it shifted uneasily.

The gangly man pointed out, “Your plan seems to be missing a few details. What us peons might consider an actual plan.”

The Red Queen smiled. “Oh no. I know them all. But there are far too many variables right now. You’ll know more when it’s relevant. I wouldn’t want any of you to get distracted.”

Anahel coughed explosively and leaned forward, her hand on her chest. As she did, the Red Queen said, “Ah! Well. It looks like we’ve had this briefing just in time. Jabberwocky is testing our defenses already.”

Rain sprang forward, going from her boneless slouch to a bundle of spiky tension at Anahel’s side in an instant. Anahel caught her breath and said, “Ground troops. Fantasy demons. I—”

“I’ll go welcome them,” said Malachai, standing up, and the dark chaos in him had hardened to a clean point. 

“They’re not stormhounds, Mal,” said Anahel anxiously. “I think they’re… residents of Jabberwocky.”

The chilly smile Piper had seen as she climbed the briefing chamber tiers returned. “That’s all right. If they’re alive, that means they can die.” With a vague wave, he moved along the row to the far side and down to the door Dantalion leaned beside. When he vanished through it, the dark angel followed behind him.

The Red Queen waited until he was gone before quieting the anxious staffers. “Acquaint yourself with your assigned weapons, but focus on your assigned tasks. This is a probe, nothing more, and one we’re well equipped to repel.” She paused for a moment as the crowd began to depart. “Anahel, Piper, please report to my workshop. Sajan, Rain, you’re welcome to come too.”


	16. 12.1: Blockade

Malachai took the long route to the roof exit this time, making a few stops here and there to pick up some toys. He peeked into the armory out of curiosity, but snorted and withdrew when the man there offered him one of the Red Queen’s so-called ‘storm cannons’. He had his own way of fighting and it didn’t involve such unwieldy weapons.

The news of the invasion of ground troops had exhilarated Malachai, far more than he would have expected. He rarely threw himself into physical combat, although like all angels, he’d been engineered with the capacity. But he felt like he’d been holding himself back from everything he wanted to do for days now. With attackers like this, he found all his desires aligning perfectly. They threatened the Ark, they threatened Piper, and he would destroy them.

When he finally made it out the exterior door, he found Dantalion leaning against the wall in the alcove’s shadow. He grinned at the dark angel. “Did you come to watch?”

Deadpan, Dantalion said, “Yes. I’ve come to watch. You understand me so well.”

Malachai flicked two of the capsules he’d borrowed from the Red Queen’s storeroom at the other, and then peeled his gloves off. “Hold onto those for me, will you?” he said, then added, “You know if you strain your void gate more, Raphael’s going to war, right?”

Catching both easily, Dantalion tucked them into a jacket pocket and glanced at a nearby drone camera, part of the external surveillance system. “Oh, I know.” A throaty bestial roar echoed from higher up the mountain. “Here come the guests.”

Malachai shaded his eyes as he peered up the slope, and then strolled over to where the mountainside met the roof. “That’s a lot of demons.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Horns, claws, gray skin. Definitely demons.” 

Malachai wondered about the Incarnarium Rex that had sent them. They could modify and even create their own minions, if they were anything like the first Rex the Ark had fought, in the years immediately following Sammael’s meltdown. He didn’t think it was very likely that these troops represented the ordinary inhabitants of Jabberwocky, if those even existed.

In fact…

He strode forward a few more meters and then tossed one of his toys behind him back on the roof. The capsule popped open and a coil of tape unwound itself along the Ark’s perimeter. When fully unrolled, the tape began sparking and sizzling in a way that promised great pain to anybody crossing it. Meanwhile, Malachai continued up the slope. More than a hundred creatures charged toward him, each one gray-skinned, clawed, armed, and over seven feet tall without the horns.

Malachai spread open his arms in a gesture of welcome. The leading demon roared in response, hefting his axe and leaping forward. As big taloned feet churned up the mountain soil and the axe descended, Malachai stepped to one side. He reached up as he did and caught the demon’s arm.

As soon as he touched the demon, the invading army all but vanished. What had been a hundred-plus attackers became a couple dozen. Still roaring, still armed and dangerous, but scattered through the space the magic-crafted horde had filled.

“I thought so,” said Malachai, grinning.

Another demon charged past him and skidded to a stop at the sparking barrier, glaring at it and then at Malachai.

“Oho, you’ve got some brains, at least.” Cheerfully, Malachai waved one of his capsules at the enemy. “I’ve got the key right here.”

When the demon charged him—so slow! Malachai again neatly sidestepped him. This time he took the giant axe from the demon with one hand while using his other hand and leg to trip the demon and flip it onto its back. Then, still smiling, he slammed the axe down into the invader’s torso. 

They might have had a living thing’s survival instinct, but they didn’t die nearly as messily as some things Malachai had killed. He wrenched the weapon free and absently twirled it in one hand as he turned to inspect his next target. Another demon was almost upon him, swinging a giant mace. He caught it by the handle before it struck his head, and felt the yawn of his own void gate opening as his straining muscles demanded supplementation.

With a burst of energy, he kicked the demon away from him while retaining his grip on the mace. The demon reeled back and fell on the slope, wheezing.

Malachai looked between the axe and the mace he now held, and shook his head in exasperation. “This is all for show, isn’t it?” He flung the axe at another demon, striking him solidly in the chest, and tossed the mace to one side. Then he stretched, cracking his knuckles, and surveyed his enemies. They’d taken the time to group up again, eyeing him malevolently. When they came at him, it wouldn’t be one at a time any more.

He heard the slight whirr of the surveillance drone as it passed overhead, and thought of who might be watching. With a twist of his mouth, he found himself calling out, “Are you sure you want to do this?” as he spread his hands again. “You can see you’re not going to win.”

But classical fantasy demons were never known for listening to reason.

***

Anahel and Rain accompanied Piper to the Red Queen’s workshop, while Sajan vanished elsewhere. When they entered the large machine-cluttered room, Raphael was already there, adjusting a video stream on a big screen.

Piper glanced around. ‘Workshop’ conjured up images of woodworking and garages, but this room was a sleek chamber of twisted metal curves that had clearly been designed by the same mind that created Alice’s chamber. It didn’t have quite so many screens, but the fixation on black remained. Here, the walls seemed to be made of small black cubes, with red light gleaming behind some that had been turned at an angle. Solid red cupboards stood at right angles to one side, lined up like soldiers, while a number of large machines lined the other two walls. Some of them were steel and plastic, some of them as reflective as mirrors, and a few were, yes, black. With red lights.

The Red Queen materialized in the center of the room. “Miss Jones. If you’ll take a seat here, I’ll show you how to—”

But Malachai and Dantalion had appeared on one half of the screen, while a monstrous pack of charging demons occupied the other half. Without thinking, Piper moved past the Red Queen toward the screen.

“—And I’ll just give you a moment. You really don’t need to worry, Miss Jones. Malachai’s methods are unorthodox, but he’s very competent in his own way. Anahel, I need to calibrate some of my swarm cores against your—”

Piper watched Malachai dodge a demon and then wrench its axe away. He held the weapon almost negligently before swinging it at his attacker. When he threw it a moment later, it was like a child tossing aside a dull toy.

“How can he be so strong?” she demanded.

Raphael tapped a console and a third window opened, focused on where Dantalion lurked in his alcove. “Oh, we’re all very strong. It’s a simple enhancement.“

“Raphael,” said an irate Red Queen. “What are you doing over there?”

“Monitoring my patient,” said Raphael, a small smile curving her mouth. “He seems to be behaving himself, however. You wished my assistance in configuring a new incarnation?”

“Among other things. Start inspecting the—”

Piper watched the Ark’s defense a few minutes more, a sense of indignation growing stronger with every demon Malachai took down. She didn’t even know why, only that it overshadowed the sense of horror and surprised respect she also felt.

“Hah!” said the Red Queen from beside her, as he threw a capsule and what looked like a spill of ink poured across the ground and tangled a demon’s legs. “Well, at least he’s putting my wasted efforts to use.”

Piper darted her an inquiring look and she said, “That little ‘barrier’ dying down was just a fireworks sparkler band I made a few years ago. I would have expected attackers to be smart enough to see that. But I have to hand it to Malachai. He’s good at smoke and mirrors. I’ve never known anybody as good at lying and then distracting people from his lies. If you’re done gawking, Miss Jones, I brought you here for a reason…”

“Oh!” said Piper, turning around. Rain leaned against the door, watching the screen as well. Raphael sat at a workstation checking something on a tablet, while Anahel, at a drafting table, had her eyes closed and her head on her arms. “Can I help somehow? What are you doing?”

The Red Queen gave her a look of exaggerated patience. “Among other things, organizing the further defense of this base, planning out the logistics of an assault on Jabberwocky, designing a second power plant with optimal efficiency, communicating with a wreckage recovery team, and trying to start the incarnation of Twelve, a process that will take three days once we work through the kinks.”

Piper mapped this to the mission briefing. “Three days… so that’s why we’re supposed to work on surviving that long?” She snuck another glance at the view screen, and saw several demons edging over the now-sputtering barrier. Dantalion flicked one of the capsules Malachai had given him at them and when they scattered, sent a plume of black fire at each of them that didn’t even leave ash behind. After he did so, he glanced up at the camera watching him, just once.

Shaking herself, Piper added, “Is Twelve really going to make that much of a difference?”

_“He_ thinks so,” said the Red Queen sourly. “And yes, you’re rather important to the entire operation. An angel can’t be incarnated without an Anchor, after all.”

She thought of Twelve’s arrogant voice. “He’s probably not very fond of that restriction, is he?”

_With an Anchor such as yourself, there will be compensations I fully intend on enjoying,_ said Twelve in her mind. She flinched, and then shivered as his words sank in.

The Red Queen’s mouth thinned. “Yes, this is unfortunate but necessary. Please come over here.” She guided Piper over to a freshly painted white square on the floor. The black tiles extended partially around it. “I need you to stand in here so I can extract your Warp imprint. The cubes will encase you. The whole experience should be somewhat like taking a shower, although you won’t emerge wet.”

Nervously, Piper tugged on her t-shirt and cargo pants. “Do I need to undress?”

“Unnecessary.”

She looked at the square again. It was about the size of her own shower back in her flat. “Will it hurt?”

“No more than a shower.” The Red Queen paused and her visor flashed. “Are you claustrophobic?”

Slowly, Piper moved forward into the square. “I don’t think so.” She lifted her head and added, “And I can always close my eyes.”

“That’s the spirit,” said the Red Queen encouragingly. With a click and a clatter, the black cubes of the enclosing walls tumbled outward, growing like an organic thing until Piper stood in a small black space, lit by red gleams between the cubes. Warm air moved around her, tugging on her clothes. Crimson light flickered over her and the Red Queen’s voice said, “I will now begin the scan.”

A low chime sounded, and sustained for a long moment. The airflow around her ankles increased dramatically as the long chime shifted to a throbbing rhythm that came from everywhere. It invaded her body, until she was no longer sure she was hearing anything other than the amplified, resonating sound of her own heartbeat. A twitch ran down her spine and passed through her backside. Her thighs trembled and she wondered distractedly if she could lean against the cubicle wall.

A second twitch ran down her front, the tips of her breasts hardening in response. The warm draft tugging at her trousers sent fingers up her legs. She pressed her thighs together, but the tickle stopped at the back of her knees and the oddest disappointment flickered through her. Then the back of her neck tingled and something delicately traced along her shoulders. It was as soft as a whisper, a finger of light drawn along her collarbone and tracing each of her ribs. 

As it spread over the curves of her torso, she could once again hear a wicked laugh in Wonderland. She wondered if he was influencing the scan somehow, or just appreciating her reaction to it. But the whisper-touch and the deep throb of the chime came together in her stomach and she gasped, forgetting the thought. The tiles caught her as she swayed dangerously, emerging from the plane of the wall to cup her back. Her breath sped up as the whisper-touch crawled over her hips and over the sensitive skin high on the backs of her thighs.

Then, after it’d traced down to her knees, it faded away. The draft ebbed and the chiming ended. “All done,” said the Red Queen. “I trust that didn’t hurt?”

Piper swallowed, an ache to equal the one Malachai had left her with the other night replacing the tingling warmth in her core. “Not exactly…”

“Would you like some time before I pull back the curtain? Perhaps to sit down?” The cubes cupping her back slid down to push gently against her backside. 

Piper twitched as her imagination exploded with a dozen dimly seen scenarios involving a self-configuring chair and that scanning system. Blushing hotly, she said, “No! I’m fine. Get me out of here.”

In response, the cubes composing the front wall peeled away. Anahel had lifted her head from her arms and she and Rain were watching Piper’s cubicle curiously. The avatar of the Red Queen had melted away, but Piper was beginning to realize that the avatar only ever existed for human comfort.

“You’re all right?” asked Anahel tentatively. “You didn’t hurt this time?”

As Piper dredged up a reassuring smile, the Red Queen said briskly, “She’s fine, as you see. My special effort to make it a comfortable experience was a complete success. And now, Anahel, you will take advantage of Malachai’s assistance, go to your room and rest.”

Anahel stood up. “I’ll go to my office. There’s a couch and I just… feel better if I’m not hiding like a slug.”

Raphael, by the view screen, turned to inspect her. “That is acceptable. However, I will be speaking with your deputy. If you refuse to take care of yourself properly, I will take measures.”

With a wide-eyed, worried look, Anahel said, “Raphael, we’re actively under attack. I won’t put my own health over those I’ve promised to protect.”

Raphael’s face hardened. “Yes. That is why I’m here. I will not allow you to come to harm.”

As if she wasn’t paying attention to the surrounding conversation, Rain said, “What is Dantalion doing?”

The healer quickly looked at the view screen and then pivoted to study the dark angel as he emerged from his alcove, stretching. Tracked by the camera controlled by Raphael, he strolled up the slope to where Malachai knelt, prodding the body of one of his victims.

By the time Raphael said thoughtfully, “Mild exercise will not harm his recovery,” Anahel had fled the workshop after a grateful look at Rain.

“How is his void gate doing?” she asked. Then as an aside to Piper, she said, “That’s the primary power source for angels.”

Frowning, Raphael said, “He wasted a great deal of energy and very seriously injured himself trying to banish Sammael a second time.”

“How much energy?” whispered Piper, uncertain whether she wanted to draw the healer’s attention.

But it was the Red Queen who answered. “Approximately as much as he spent in the last year of fighting godstorms.”

“He gave everything he could afford,” said Raphael sharply. “And until his void gate recovers, he is to only engage in the lightest of duties. I will not have him giving more.”

Piper’s brow furrowed together, envisioning the dark angel she’d seen walking around. “I didn’t realize he was so hurt.”

“His body is fine,” said the Red Queen smugly. “They’re all very strong. Almost all of them. The void gate is within, the core I will attune to your Warp imprint.”

Puzzled, thinking of the angel in the infirmary, obviously confined to a bed and a machine, Piper asked, “Did Ashmedai expend himself more?”

“Hardly,” said the Red Queen. “Ashmedai’s ability to match Sammael isn’t based on his void gate’s dilation. Ashmedai’s problem is that he got cocky, took a direct hit from Sammael’s sword, and then ran into a mountain so hard the mountain dented.” After a pause, the Red Queen added, “Well, one of his problems. The only one Raphael can do anything about, anyhow.”

“He will be restored within a day if he can behave himself. If he can’t, I shall compel him to rest.”

Piper chewed on her lip for a moment and then glanced up. Raphael was observing Dantalion and Malachai again, and one of the larger machines in the corner had many red lights flashing. “Do you need me any longer? If not I was thinking I’d try talking to Ashmedai again. He might be more comfortable communicating if nobody else is around.”

“Feel free. But please don’t leave the Ark, and don’t go exploring the Ark. There are extremely dangerous corridors and Anahel can’t afford the energy to rescue you. Actually, let’s just snip that thread before it can tangle. Rain, would you escort her again?” said the Red Queen, clearly distracted.

“I approve of this plan,” said Raphael, without looking away from the screen. “It is undeniable that he feels burdened by the expectations of his cohort. Perhaps you can offer him something else.”

“Sure!” said Rain with a brittle brightness. “I’d be happy to help. Come on, Piper.” She smacked the exit door and it slid open.

Piper followed Rain into the hall, frowning. “They keep asking you to babysit me, even though you have a job of your own. Doesn’t the Ark have somebody designated to help new people figure things out?”

“Yes. Malachai,” said Rain wryly. “Or Sajan, or Anahel, but they’ve got things to do.”

“And you don’t?”

Rain didn’t answer for a moment. Finally, she said, “It’s not exactly a heavy-duty position, especially with outside communications being blocked by Jabberwocky. As for the rest of it, the Red Queen could probably do it all herself. I’m here for… legacy reasons. And redundancy.”

Piper studied the other woman as they walked. There’d been an odd catch in her voice at the end, but the rest of her explanation had been delivered in a matter-of-fact voice that lacked the emotional edge Piper had come to expect.

“What?” asked Rain.

“Do you like it here?”

“Sometimes. Other times, like now, there’s drawbacks.” She shrugged and put her hands in her pockets. “But I don’t think I could live anywhere else now.” Glancing sideways, she caught Piper’s curious expression. “I’ll explain later, okay? It’s nothing you need to worry about, and I’d rather talk about current issues, like Ashmedai. You’re not planning on relenting toward him, are you?”

“Relenting?” 

“Forgiving him. Encouraging him to use you up and toss you aside.” That edge was back in Rain’s voice, sharper than ever. “You’re too nice.”

Piper chuckled, remembering Anahel’s expression in the garden as she’d broken climbing stems. “I don’t think so.” She recognized the hall they were in. “I’ve only had a few conversations with him and he’s been… very different in each one. But I have a connection to him I can _feel_ now. I need to understand him better, or I’ll make bad decisions.”

“Hah. Understanding him isn’t so hard.”

Piper stopped near the infirmary door, tilting her head at Rain. “You really don’t like him very much do you?”

Rain’s gaze dropped to the floor before she raised it again. “He’s a selfish jerk who almost killed you. What’s to like?”

“Yeah,” said Piper slowly, remembering the picnic. “But you didn’t like him even before Sammael invaded.”

“That’s because I’ve known him a long time,” snapped Rain. “He’s basically everything I’m afraid of.” Her cheeks flushed suddenly, as if she’d said something revealing. “Anyhow, you’re nicer than me. And Raphael’s pretty perceptive about some things. Maybe you’ll accomplish something I wouldn’t even try. Go on. I’ll wait out here.”

“But—” Piper began, bothered by so many details of what Rain had just said that she didn’t know where to start.

“No buts! I’ll wait out here and when you’re done we can go find more food. I’ll make you cook me something in repayment.” Rain slumped against the opposite wall and pulled out a small screen from her pocket.

Piper stared at her a moment and then, blowing out her breath, went into the infirmary.


	17. 12.2: Spiralling

Dimmed lights brightened as she stepped inside. Ashmedai stretched out on his bed, with sensors on his chest and arms connected to a strange machine. He’d flung his arm over his face again, but this time he’d kicked off the sheet that had covered him, revealing loose khaki pajama bottoms. He didn’t stir when she closed the door, but this close, she could tell he wasn’t actually asleep.

“You know I’m here,” she said softly, looking around until she spotted a chair she could roll over to the bed. It rumbled against the floor as she pushed it, the sound loud in the quiet of the infirmary.

When she’d seated herself, he lowered his arm. “What do you want?”

Hugging one knee up under her chin, Piper studied him like she’d study a mysteriously wilting tree. When his mouth tightened, she finally said, “Just to talk to you. We’re partners now. I want to understand you better.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

She squinted at him. “I think it is. I can feel things about you but I don’t understand them, and I don’t like that.”

He ran a long-fingered hand through his hair, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. “Talking to me’s not going to help you there.”

Piper thought of Malachai’s dark chaos, and the puzzle of Raphael and Dantalion’s interactions. “Maybe not. Let’s do it anyhow.”

His gaze returned to her face, narrowing. “Why are you even here?”

A smile pulled at Piper’s mouth. “Do we have to go in circles? I just answered that.”

“Not here, now,” he said impatiently. “Here at the Ark. Did Malachai seduce you? Do you like the idea of danger? Why?”

Flushing, she said, “He tricked me, actually. I came here to be a gardener, and I didn’t know what _here_ actually was.”

“That figures,” he said bitterly. “He’s been trying to find me an Anchor for over a year, and it figures that when he finally did, it’d be…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

Piper thought of the polite, quiet-spoken Ashmedai she’d met the first night. She still didn’t know what had happened, but it was clear that he’d been masking this twisted mass of rage and longing even then. That sort of thing didn’t develop overnight.

At least, not with ordinary people. But shallow-rooted plants wilted much more quickly than deep-rooted ones.

“How different are void angels from humans, psychology-wise? You must have a better idea than me about that.”

Distantly, his eyes half-closed, he said, “She says our psyches are based on a human template, but she wasn’t the one who originally pulled us out of the void.” He laughed harshly. “She did modify me extensively, though.”

Piper understood him to mean the Red Queen, and kept quiet, hoping for more. Instead, his gaze unfocused and his face spasmed, as if he was looking at horrors on an internal screen. Sighing, she went back to her basic skills getting to know new acquaintances and coworkers. “How old are you, anyhow? Is age even a thing for angels?”

He blinked, startled out of whatever he was thinking. Then he gave her a wary look. “Why are you asking that?”

“You seem like you’re around my age. I was curious.”

“Hah,” he said. “You barely seem older than Alice.”

Piper had been prepared to accept _not really an angel thing_ as an answer, but this stung her. She sat up straight. “How in the world can you think I’m near the same age as a preadolescent girl?”

“She’s older than she looks. And I meant emotionally, anyhow.” He waved a hand dismissively, but his gaze was fixed on her face.

Piper ignored all of this as irrelevant in pursuit of getting her own back. “You know, I was _trying_ not to poke at sensitive subjects but _if_ you were made in response to Sammael, Sammael only appeared twelve years ago. I was ten then. So which one of us is closer to twelve, jerk?” She frowned at him ferociously.

He scowled back at her. “All of us, even the children, are much older than that. You and those big blue eyes, you really are another Alice. Except she’s far cuter.”

“Alice has brown eyes.” Piper objected on factual grounds, although she’d already decided he had to be reacting to some universal Anchor trait, not her actual appearance. 

“Amber,” he corrected absently. He sat up, and for a moment he looked far younger than her. “Are you really planning to stay, even after the blockade is lifted?”

The question threw Piper off. “Maybe? At the very least until Alice is well again. I don’t really have a lot waiting for me back on land, though.”

He tilted his head, his shaggy hair curling around his eyes, and looked like a youth no longer. “Hmm.” His gaze fell to her hand with the void augment. “May I see that?”

Silently, Piper lifted her hand and let him take it. His cool fingers held her palm while his thumbs slid over the purple shape. She thought of Malachai holding her hand, and how she felt it every time like a shock through her body. Maybe because of the Anchor bond, or because of their silly argument, touching Ashmedai felt like touching a sibling.

“There’s a way to override these, you know. If the Anchor wants to.”

A sociopathic sibling. Piper pulled her hand away. “I’m not killing myself so you can beat Sammael.”

Ashmedai spread his hands. “I mean, it’s Sammael.”

“I don’t care. I already lost too much to Sammael. I’m not giving him my life.” Piper crossed her arms across her chest, hiding her void augment. 

He gave her a wry, pointed look and she felt like he was throwing her attempt to understand him better back in her face. Annoyed, she asked, “Why do you care so much about defeating him?”

His eyes glinted. “I was made—”

“Bullshit.” She could practically smell the lie. “You’re not an automaton. You _care_ about defeating him, enough that you’d lie and regret it and kill me anyhow. He killed my grandmother and all but destroyed my life. What did he do to _you_?”

Ashmedai’s white teeth flashed but it wasn’t a smile. “Perceptive Piper. All right. You’re correct. I hate him. My older brothers and sisters would love to redeem him, and my dearest designer tweaked me in response to that. But I’d like to rip his heart out and eat it.”

_And here we are again_ , Piper thought, meeting his malevolent black eyes. But no, not exactly. She had a better sense of him now, as more than a polite smile and a black shadow. He had opinions as well as hatred. It was a starting place.

She blew out her breath. “Are you capable of fighting anybody other than Sammael?”

His voice cool, he said, “Oh yes.” He glanced down at his hands. 

“So you’ll be able to help defend the Ark when Raphael discharges you?”

“Of course.” His brows drew together, but he had a mocking lilt in his voice as he said, “What must you think of me?”

Piper thought of Rain, sitting in the corridor beyond, and her deep dislike for Ashmedai. Of Raphael’s perception of his ‘burden,’ and Malachai’s description of the danger he represented. “Why don’t you tell me?”

Once again his head tilted, like a bird of prey. After a long moment, he said, “An interesting game. All right. You think that I’m dangerous. Selfish. Distorted. The sort of man you’d avoid if you could. You don’t like me, but you’ve decided I’m your job. But you think I’m not a healthy sort of job.”

Regarding him steadily, Piper asked, “Is any of that wrong?”

He gave her another one of those bright, cold smiles. “Not at all. But I’ll defend my home despite that.”

She pressed her lips together and then said, “How did you get knocked out of the sky anyhow?”

The smile vanished from his face and his eyes widened. “You don’t know? But—”

“I was unconscious, remember? From the intense pain you put me through?”

“Yes, but—” Ashmedai stopped talking and shook his head. “No, never mind that. I don’t want to talk about that. It’s your turn. Tell me, what must I think of you?”

Piper drew back and then resettled herself in the chair. “Fair.” She thought for a moment, remembering how he’d compared her to Alice. “You think I’m an idiot. Gullible. Soft. The sort of person who exists to be used by others.” She saw her reflection in his dark eyes. It drove her on. “You think I’m weak, too. Easily distracted. Too impulsive. Alone. A born victim. A doormat. Isolated. Desperate. Starved for attention—” She caught herself, realized she’d said far more than she meant to, and looked down. After waiting in vain for a moment for him to respond as she had, she glanced up.

He’d leaned forward, an odd look on his face. “Well?” she demanded in his place. “Am I right? Do you think that?”

Slowly, his voice coming from a long way away, he said, “I think until you came here, nobody ever protected you. Not since that grandmother of yours died.”

“That’s not true,” she said, but weakly. She’d been on her own for a while, but the state had cared for her after the _Michiru_ came back into port. She’d been in a better place than a lot of people when the first godstorms came. 

“Liar,” he said softly, and for some reason she thought of Anahel and gardens.

Had she ever been more than a number on a lab slip to the people who decided what to do with her? 

She shook herself and wrinkled her nose. “Being protected costs too much anyhow. As you recently reminded me.”

Her pointed look seemed to pass right through him unnoticed. “Well, you’re not an idiot, at least. I hope you don’t die from everything else.”

“Unless it helps you win.” 

A flash of his teeth. “Exactly.”

Irritable, but not distressed this time, Piper said, “Because you’re a psychopath.”

His eyes bright and his smile almost feral, Ashmedai said, “Clearly there’s no point in lying to you. So we’ll cross gullible off the list too.”

The ventilation system in the infirmary turned off and only then did Piper realize she’d been smelling something floral for a few moments. Not a flower she recognized, but definitely… floral. She sniffed. “Where’s that smell coming from?”

“One of Raphael’s concoctions, I expect,” said Ashmedai. His eyes were still glittering.

Piper stared hard at him and then shook her head furiously as the scent grew stronger. It was a mistake. Even when she stopped moving, her head kept spinning. The lights seemed too bright, and her body felt warm. She remembered the scanning cubicle in the Red Queen’s workshop and crossed and uncrossed her legs.

Ashmedai was watching her curiously as she shifted position, but that didn’t seem very important, until suddenly it was very important. He sat on the bed, one leg bent, the other kicked against the bed’s base, and all she could think of was how _lonely_ he looked. Like a lost little boy, with glittering psychopathic eyes and smooth dark skin and a torso full of hard muscles.

Maybe not so little. Still. “I know what you need,” she announced.

“Oh?” He shifted position, until he sat on the edge of the bed with both legs hooked on the base. Piper had the vague sense that Raphael would disapprove of him sitting like that, but she’d _wanted_ Piper to help Ashmedai somehow, and sitting properly would definitely help.

“You need a hug.” She thought for a minute. “So does Rain. But she hates you and I don’t. So I’ll give you a hug.”

Ashmedai looked startled, and then amused. “If you want.”

A fog of scent filled her mind. Piper rose to her feet and swayed, before falling onto Ashmedai. He caught her easily, his arms encircling her waist. “Definitely impulsive,” he murmured.

“Oh yeah.” She thought of kissing Malachai on the plane, and wondered where he was now, and if she could do that again. But here was Ashmedai, lonely. She ran her hands slowly up his chest, knocking off a few of the sensors, before twining them around his neck.

He had a very pretty face, but the look of doubt on it tore at her heart. “Poor, poor Ashmedai.” She pressed her head against his shoulder as she tangled her fingers in his hair. His whole body was hot against hers. “I’ll help you feel better. I bet nobody’s hugged you ever.” 

“Piper?” he said, as if puzzled. She pressed herself harder against him, and his hands against her back twitched, his fingers brushing her spine under her shirt. Then he murmured, “Is this ‘starved for attention,’ ‘desperate’, or something else at work, I wonder?”

His mouth found her temple, and the brush of his lips on her skin sent fire through Piper’s body. She was sure she could smell burning flowers coming from his skin, and wondered how it would taste. But she was hugging him. Comforting him. Helping him. Her cheek on his shoulder.

All she had to do was turn her head a little to give him the tiniest of nips. When she did, he shuddered, his arms tightening almost painfully. “No,” he muttered. “You’re definitely not thinking right.”

“Hush,” said Piper firmly. “I’m fine, except for those flowers making me a little dizzy. Hug me more. This is an important lesson.” Then she nipped his shoulder again to show him who was the boss.

His arms remained around her, his mouth against her hair now, but she could tell he was thinking hard rather than paying attention. She shifted against him, thinking about how much easier it’d be to hug him if she sat in his lap. But before she could suggest this, he said, “Oh…” in a very different voice.

Then his mouth was on her ear, tracing the shell and moving down to the lobe. Piper gasped as her student suddenly moved onto Advanced Hugging. 

“Yes,” she breathed. “Good boy.”

He growled something under his breath, but she couldn’t make it out because at that point, the infirmary door flew open. As Piper lifted her head, Malachai plunged into the room, dragging an extremely rumpled-looking Rain behind him by the wrist. Malachai had his nasty smile again, and only one glove on.

_That_ smile. Piper disapproved, and wondered if a hug would help Malachai feel better, too. Although she really wanted to do a lot more than hug Malachai. She was still mad at him for walking out on her after kissing her that night. He _owed_ her.

Ashmedai’s arms loosened around her, and his voice was strained as he said, “Mal, I think something’s affecting Piper—”

“Yeah. Hang in there a minute while I fix it, buddy.” His smile shifted to one of delight. “Actually, why don’t we swap? You handle this one and I’ll handle that one.” He thrust Rain at Ashmedai as he closed his gloved hand around Piper’s arm.

“You bastard! Fuck you! Don’t touch me!” exploded Rain, kicking at Malachai and then at Ashmedai as he released Piper and reached for her. 

As Rain stumbled away from Ashmedai, the ventilation system kicked on again. Suddenly the floral scent vanished—and yet Piper could still feel it in her mind. Then Malachai’s mouth was on her temple, just as Ashmedai’s had been, and for the first time, his touch made her feel worse instead of better. The flowers in her mind vanished, leaving behind a splitting headache. 

Piper wrenched her head away from and turned to glare at him. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she felt like she’d finally been getting somewhere with Ashmedai, and now Rain was here, backing away from Ashmedai, and somehow Malachai had been making her cry—

—and then a voice spoke in her mind. Not Twelve. Not Ashmedai. Not Sammael. Not somebody from Wonderland. It was a voice made of flowers, and it said, _Poor sweetheart. Why don’t we talk?_

Instantly, she tumbled down into the darkness of dreams, and found herself standing in a sunlit meadow of the same flowers that had invaded her mind. The same flowers that had made her want to hug Ashmedai. Did she regret that? She didn’t know. But she realized she wouldn’t have done it if the flowers hadn’t fogged her brain. It had been like being drunk, except she’d never been quite that cuddly after a few beers.

A hazy figure appeared before her, and Piper scowled. “I’ve had enough,” she announced to the world at large.

_Not yet_ , said the figure, and she could tell it was laughing at her. _Not nearly enough yet. You’re still standing._

“Wanna bet?” Piper snapped. Then she cupped her hands around her mouth and threw her everything into shouting, “ _Dantalion!”_

_Hmm?_ said the hazy figure, right before a cloak of absolute darkness fell like a hammer to erase the meadow.

“Troubling.” Dantalion’s deep voice reverberated from the darkness. “I’ll do what I can. Best you stay asleep for now, though.”

And for a while, that was all Piper knew.


	18. 13: Midnight Breakfast

Something smelled amazing. Piper, tangled in fragments of memories masquerading as dreams, rolled over as the dark, heady scent overwrote the memory of flowers.

“Hey, wake up,” said Rain. “I brought coffee.”

Piper’s eyes opened. For a moment, she stared unseeing at the crumpled blanket blocking her vision. Her dry mouth and disorientation told her she’d slept for a while, but when—

The fragments of memories coalesced and she remembered her talk with Ashmedai. The scent of flowers invading her mind. The feel of Ashmedai’s chest under her fingers—far too vivid a memory for comfort! She pulled the blanket over her face and groaned. 

She’d actually _bitten_ him. While lecturing him about hugging. And then Rain and Malachai had burst in and saved him from her. And then…

And then _something_ had yanked her down into a dream. A voice that sounded like flowers, a voice that wanted to play with her. Her enemy. She’d called on Dantalion and he’d sent the dream away and—

Rain pulled away the blanket, holding a steaming mug. “Come on, wake up. You can do it.”

Piper sat up. She was in her bed in her own room. The digital clock on the big screen told her it was a little after midnight. The time galvanized her, because she associated midnight wakeup calls with godstorm evacuations. “What’s going on?”

“Coffee?” repeated Rain, and offered her the mug. Piper hesitated, still working through waking up, and realized Rain wouldn’t be offering her a hot drink if they needed to flee. She accepted the coffee carefully, and Rain sat on the foot of the bed.

“Drink up. You’ve had a good eight hours of peaceful sleep and now you’re going to help me cook, just like we agreed.”

Sipping the brew, Piper tried to remember this and came up with the memory of Rain saying Piper could cook something for her in exchange for her guidance. “Sure… um, at midnight?”

“Yep,” said Rain. “Everybody’s sleep schedules are shot, nobody’s been cooking and we need a morale booster, so we’re going to make a midnight breakfast.”

Piper studied the dark circles under Rain’s eyes. “Have _you_ slept?”

The other woman twisted the bedsheet around her hand and looked down at it. “A little. Jabberwocky’s making it hard. I’ll take another nap after breakfast.”

After a bigger gulp of coffee, Piper said, “What’s been happening? I—I was behaving badly before I fell asleep, and then I dreamt...” She trailed off, uncertain how to even put words around the dream and her sense of the figure within.

Rain made a face. “Yeah, Jabberwocky’s attacking on multiple levels. A hallucinogenic attack on all of us humans, and then, yeah… dreams…” She shook her head. “Raphael’s working on a solution to those. Meanwhile, people need to eat something other than meal bars and there’s raspberries going to waste in the big fridge.” She hesitated. “You can cook, right?”

Piper slid out of the bed, noticing that somebody had dressed her for bed in a long t-shirt before tucking her in. “Enough to feed myself. And I can follow a cookbook.”

Subtly relaxing, Rain said, “That’s fine. About half of the staff are afraid of cracking an egg.”

Piper went to the bathroom. When she returned, she said, “I thought the head angel chef—Cassiel? had an assistant?”

Rain, who had made Piper’s bed inexpertly and then settled herself on the couch, opened her eyes. “She’s on the salvage team. She says that once he wakes up, Cassiel will go easier on us than her if the kitchen is out of order.” She watched Piper brush her hair for a moment before saying, “Malachai’s going to be helping out too.”

Piper couldn’t suppress a wince as she remembered him pulling her off Ashmedai, but managed to say cheerfully, “Oh, does he know how eggs work?”

“Actually, yeah,” said Rain, standing up. “I personally wouldn’t leave him alone in a kitchen I wanted to be usable later, but he’d at least produce something edible while making a mess. Ready to go?”

After tying her hair back in a knot, Piper hesitated, thinking over what had happened before she slept. “Do you think that… hallucinogen thing is going to happen again? What exactly has Jabberwocky been doing with dreams? Dantalion chased him out of mine…”

A shadow passed over Rain’s face again. “They’re working on filters for the hallucinogen. If it does happen again, well, Malachai’s right there and it’s an effect he can dispel. As for the dreams , they’re… odd.” She scanned Piper’s face. “You want more details?”

When Piper nodded, she sighed and sat down again. 

Hurriedly, Piper said, “We can walk and talk.”

But Rain shook her head. “I don’t want to. Not about…” She sighed and ran a hand through her dark, tousled hair. “The hallucinogen makes people really… affectionate. However people manifest that.” She gave Piper an unreadable look. “You apparently get really cuddly.”

Piper flushed, because she could clearly remember her thoughts and _cuddly_ was just the beginning. Rain pressed her lips together and then plowed on, as if confessing a secret she’d owed Piper. “I sit in the hall and cry because I’m all alone, until I figure out something’s going on and find Mal. Tachi—that’s the loudmouth at the meeting—locks himself in his office, drunk calls people and compliments body parts. Sajan wants to hold hands and tell people how awesome they are. And so on.”

Piper nodded slowly, guessing it was more than that for everybody. “That’s all… uh… Well, I guess I can see why an enemy might want that? But what about the dreams?”

Pressing her hands against her head, Rain leaned back. “They’re intense. Somebody said they were like godstorm dreams. But not of Sammael. Somebody else…” Rain fell silent, closing her eyes for a moment before saying, “Reaching inside of us. It doesn’t hurt, and Mal’s making sure there’s no real lingering influence, but there’s still something… intrusive.” Her hand went to her chest. “Like some part of me has a wedge driven within.”

She opened her eyes, sitting up. “Information gathering, maybe. As a matter of security, Dantalion’s focusing on keeping him away from you and Sajan. The rest of us are hanging in there until Raphael generates a cure.”

Startled, Piper asked, “Why me? I barely know anything about Rainbow.”

Rain gave her a cynical look and stood up again. “You’re not used to being important, are you?” 

“I’ve sort of avoided it,” Piper confessed, gratefully moving to the door. She didn’t regret asking for more information on what people were enduring but it was uncomfortable to think about. Across a decade of nightmares, she’d clung to the idea that _nightmares_ were all they were. It wasn’t _really_ Sammael looking into her from across space and time. The idea that somebody might actually be doing that… well, it was frightening.

As they walked down the hall, Rain said, “Well, here and now, you matter a lot. If the weather monitor crashes and burns, we can take care of her and she’ll recover once we get rid of Jabberwocky. If you fall apart, everything gets a whole bunch harder.”

“Because of Ashmedai and Twelve?” The discomfort in Piper’s gut deepened, until it was too much. When Rain didn’t answer right away, she took the opportunity to change the subject. “So what are we making? The usual pancakes and bacon?”

Relief flashed across Rain’s face, and she embraced the topic shift. “Bacon, yes, but not pancakes. We’re going to make stuff that isn’t quite so time sensitive. A coffeecake, maybe. I left Malachai going through the pantry.”

“I’ll definitely need a cookbook for that,” said Piper, but cheerfully. But as they approached the cafeteria entrance, her steps slowed as she picked up more than just Malachai ahead with her Warp sense.

Rain didn’t notice, pushing the door open and striding across the dining room as Piper trailed behind her. 

“I brought her, Mal, and you’d—” Piper could hear the exact moment Rain saw what she’d sensed. “ _You_. Why are you here? Mal, why is he here?”

Looking around Rain, Piper saw Ashmedai leaning against one of the stainless steel counters on the far side of the industrial kitchen. He wore a shirt now, over jeans, but she still remembered his chest under her hands. Embarrassment and nervousness squirmed through her, and his cool smile, so reminiscent of the first night she’d met him, didn’t really help.

Malachai, much closer and holding a big bowl of berries, had an exaggerated expression of surprise on his face as he looked at Rain. “We needed more hands, and I thought it might be nice for Piper and Ash to get some experience working together.” His expression morphed into one of sunny cheerfulness. “Do you have a problem with that, Rain?”

Rain muttered, “No.” Her head down, she stalked into the kitchen and over to a metal shelf with a few books stacked up.

Only then did Malachai look at Piper, his smile brightening. “And I hope you slept well, Miss Jones? You passed out rather abruptly.”

His dark, jagged chaos was sparkling and sharp-edged today, but less disturbing than it had been during the briefing. All the same, Piper decided she was most comfortable not addressing the context in which she’d fallen asleep. “Yes. I watched you fighting outside. I hope you didn’t get hurt?” Very polite, very proper. People preferred to talk about themselves anyhow.

“No, no, I’m fine. Won’t you come in? Rain’s planning on working us like dogs, I’m afraid.” He held up the bowl of berries before setting it on a work surface. “These raspberries are getting a bit soft, boss. We need to use them up.”

Piper moved into the kitchen proper, taking in the big walk-in refrigerator and the cooking surfaces. When she found herself meeting Ashmedai’s eyes, she made herself greet him as well. “Are you allowed to be here? I thought you’d still be in the infirmary.”

Still with that small smile, he said, “I wouldn’t dare go against Raphael. Malachai convinced her this wouldn’t set back my recovery and she temporarily released me.”

“Have you ever even been in this kitchen before?” asked Rain, without lifting her eyes from the cookbook.

Ashmedai’s smile widened even as Piper felt his flicker of irritation. “No. I’m afraid I’m a complete novice.”

A drawer rattled as Malachai opened it. “How about you, Miss Jones? Do you know how to chop things? Mix? Sauté?”

“Sure. But what are we making? Rain said something about coffeecake, but that certainly doesn’t take four people.” Piper found herself looking back and forth between Rain and Ash. She honestly wasn’t convinced the planned cookery required even three people, but she was perfectly willing to help out anyhow. It was a lot better than sitting idly and worrying.

But Rain’s dislike of Ash was palpable and Piper couldn’t figure out why Malachai had brought him. Despite her new angel-sense, she felt like the more she saw of Malachai, the less she understood him. He’d kissed her (and she’d not minded at all), stopped her from crawling all over Ashmedai, and now he’d arranged this little kitchen get-together, with Rain’s tension, and her nervousness, and Ash’s moodiness. 

“Raspberry coffeecake. And… give me a minute,” said Rain, pulling open the walk-in cooler. She vanished beyond the curtain for a moment and then called, “Mal, help me carry some stuff.”

“Hmm. Why don’t you two get started peeling and dicing some potatoes and onions? Those are always useful. Piper, you can show Ash what to do.” Mal grabbed a dishtowel from a stack and, whistling under his breath, followed Rain into the cooler.

“Right!” said Piper, too loudly. “Knives…” Ashmedai moved to one side and she saw the large magnetic rack of knives behind him. “Oh, there they are. Now we just need the potatoes and vegetables…”

“Piper,” said Ashmedai, so softly she barely heard him. Instinctively she moved closer, before stopping apprehensively. 

She _knew_ it had been a mind-altering effect that had made her throw herself at the tall angel, but she was also keenly aware that she’d first kissed Malachai without any such excuse. Had they compared notes? She hadn’t minded kissing Malachai again, but the thought of Ash expecting the same thing made her feel nauseous. She’d wanted to befriend him, nothing more.

His voice still quiet, he said, “Thank you for your good intentions earlier. I only wish mine had been as pure.”

With an incoherent cry of embarrassment, Piper put her hands over her face. Then she pulled them down. “Pure? You have _no idea_.”

His smile became a grin. “So you said then and yet, well…. you started with hugging.”

Looking around, Piper spotted a possible potato-holding cupboard and opened it. It had a collection of spice jars instead. “Don’t think it’s going to happen again, either.”

“Certainly not with Malachai around,” said Ash, which wasn’t quite what Piper meant. But the next insulated cupboard she opened revealed baskets of potatoes, and the one beside it had onions.

“Aha! Here we go.” She gathered up a few of both and straightened. “How good are you with a knife?” He grinned at her again, and she scowled. “Potato-chopping knives, not Sammael-chopping ones.”

“Oh, well, _those_. Show me? I learn fast.”

Meanwhile, in the privacy of the walk-in cooler, Rain smacked Malachai in the chest repeatedly, which he endured with mild amusement. “What the hell are you thinking, you dumbass? I thought you wanted Piper here so you could flirt with her. I even thought I’d help you out! But fat chance of that now.” 

He grinned down at her and she whirled away with a disgusted sound, fumbling at a shelf full of plastic storage containers.

“What, you’re not going to go chat up Ash while I amuse Piper? You’d rather hang out with me while they bond? Rain, I’m touched. It’s been a long time since you wanted to work with me.”

“And this is why!” Rain didn’t exactly shriek, but the strangled note in her voice conveyed the same emotion. “You are a moron, and an idiot, and a dumbass—”

“You said that once already,” he pointed out helpfully.

She shoved a bowl of blueberries at him, and then a large container of chopped chicken. “I could say it a hundred times.” Then she stilled, staring at her hands on the shelves, clearly thinking hard.

Malachai shifted his burden and reached out to snag a large bar of chocolate, keeping one ear on the low sound of voices from outside the cooler. He had several good reasons for bringing in Ashmedai as another assistant, but he didn’t want to ruin Rain’s fun by telling her about any of them. 

He hadn’t enjoyed seeing Piper clinging to her new partner in the slightest. Controlling their first encounter after that escapade wasn’t his primary goal, but it was an undeniable side benefit. He hadn’t quite made out what they were saying in the kitchen at first, but now that Piper was talking about different knife cuts, his mood lifted. And Rain’s extreme reactions suggested his main objective was on track as well.

“Mal?” Rain’s voice had lost all of its fire. “I hope you’re not being so clever you’re going to hurt yourself.” She moved to the opposite side of the cooler and picked up a large container of mushrooms, and another of peppers. As she added those to the stack in Malachai’s arms, she met his eyes. “If you like her, don’t push her at somebody else.”

Malachai shifted his packages so that he could pat Rain on the head. “I think you’re projecting a little.”

She jerked her head out from under his hand. “I’m really not.”

“Oh? What’s stopping you from helping me out, then? Just go show him how to slice these peppers—”

“No!” flared Rain, and almost flung a package of butter at him. “I don’t want to talk to him, or look at him, and I’m not forgetting what you said about locking us in somewhere together either, asshole.”

He maneuvered to balance the butter and peered at her over his load. “Yeah. I guess it’s probably hard watching him get cozy with Piper, huh? Look, say the word and I’ll get him out of here. You and Piper can handle all this cooking, I’m sure.”

For a moment, everything, including the package of dried herbs she tucked under his arm, hung in the balance. It was just possible that Rain was upset enough to admit it, and then he’d have to do what he promised. He held his breath, waiting, as she scowled down at the floor.

Then she glared up at him. “I’m fine. We have a lot to do, anyhow.” She looked around and found a package of eggs, picking it up carefully.

“Right, right,” said Malachai soothingly, but smug inside at his victory. “It’s okay. I’m not going to push you at him, I promise. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I’ll delegate.” 

The cooler door swung open and Piper peeked in, a tendril of her blond hair already escaping from its knot. “Are you two all right in here?” Her blue eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, Malachai, let me take some of that!” She stepped within and rescued the herbs, the butter and, very carefully, the bowl of blueberries at the bottom, and then blushed just a little when he smiled at her.

Rain, her mouth a thin line, promptly replaced the butter with a slab of bacon. “We’re fine.”

“So I see,” said Piper, her eyes dancing. “Oh, I wanted to ask what we were going to use the potatoes for? Because if it’s something like hash, we should probably boil them first.”

“Chicken hash,” said Rain. “I found all this shredded chicken. I don’t know how the sandwich brigade overlooked it but if we don’t use it…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“Cassiel has strong opinions about not wasting food,” explained Malachai. “Go ahead and get started boiling the potatoes. Wait! How’s Ash doing with chopping onions?”

Piper blew out her breath in exasperation. “He’s doing it perfectly. Better than me. It’s very annoying. Ooh, but I can let him try that big knife he was admiring. That’ll be fun.” She waved the dried herbs in a casual farewell and left the cooler again with her armful of supplies.

Malachai glanced down at Rain. She was staring after Piper, chewing her lip. 

“You look confused,” he told her.

“Dumbass,” she muttered, and then said, “Fine. You don’t care, I don’t care. I was just wondering if Cassiel was going to have a fit about his knives.”

“All right,” Rain announced, once they’d lugged all her ingredients out. “We’re going to be making a chicken hash and a mushroom hash, blueberry muffins, raspberry coffee cake, bacon, and…” She paused, inspecting a big bar of chocolate, and then gave Malachai a questioning look.

“Hot chocolate for the kitchen helpers?” said Malachai hopefully.

Piper’s eyes widened despite herself. She hadn’t had real hot chocolate since before her grandmother died. The godstorms had devastated the cocoa industry, making chocolate a rare and expensive treat.

Malachai’s gaze flicked to her face and he repeated, more firmly, “Hot chocolate.”

Rain frowned. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, Rain. Cassiel didn’t order that bar to share with the entire Ark. It’s big, but not that big.” 

Stubbornly, Rain said, “That just means it’s his personal treat.”

“Yeah, but who knows when he’ll get a chance to enjoy it?” Malachai tilted his head just a little. “Tell you what, I’ll personally replace it.”

“Oh, whatever, fine. If he complains, I’m blaming you.”

Malachai beamed and plucked the bar of chocolate from her hand. “Not for now, of course. Later, after we’ve done our work.” Piper raised her hand a little and he added, “Yes, the young lady at the front with a question?”

“How much food are we actually making? Muffins _and_ coffee cake? Two kinds of hash?”

“Ideally enough that nobody feels like they have to cook anything for the next couple of days,” said Rain. “Hash is pretty good reheated for at least two days. So are muffins. Between that and the sandwich brigade, everybody should be able to stay fueled up.” Rain sounded so pleased with herself that Piper couldn’t help but smile.

Rain smiled back at her. “For now, you two work on chopping the produce. I’m going to start mixing up the coffeecake.”

“I’ll help you measure things and get the bacon cooking, Rain,” said Malachai brightly.

Piper felt a twinge of disappointment that she ignored as she turned back to Ashmedai, who had donned a white apron that must have been Cassiel’s.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Do you want the big knife or the little knife?”

Piper gave him a stoic look, thinking about how depressing it was watching him use the chef’s knife to make perfect minced onion. He reached out and flicked her in the forehead lightly. “Wake up. You don’t expect me to chop all this myself, do you?”

“Oh, give me that,” she said and held out her hand for the paring knife. Over on the other side of the kitchen, Malachai flipped a switch. The hood fan over the ovens turned on, and the scent of the minced onions intensified. The low roar almost entirely covered the sound of the other pair’s work, which only made Piper wonder what they were talking about. She really hoped Malachai wasn’t teasing Rain more.

“Should I chop more onions, my teacher?” asked Ashmedai, his voice low and amused.

“No,” said Piper crossly, because she was pretty sure that while Ash didn’t expect more Advanced Hugging from her, he wasn’t intending on ever letting her forget about it either. “Start cubing potatoes while I deal with these peppers. And then once I clean them you can dice them, since you’re so very handy with that knife.”

They worked side by side for a few minutes, Piper muttering to herself about the ingredients now and then. Slowly, she became aware that Ashmedai was just as curious about what was going on over at the baking station behind them as she was. He turned his head to catch stray words, and a tension rippled through him now and then, even as his knife work remained obscenely regular.

Finally, after Rain’s chuckle at something Malachai said rose over the fan, he said quietly, “Earlier you said she hated me. The little storm cloud, I mean. I thought she hated everybody. But I see that’s not true.”

Piper bit her lip and focused on scraping away the white pith in her current pepper. She remembered thinking that ideally Rain and Ashmedai would provide the hugs each so clearly needed—but that Rain’s obvious aversion made that impossible. That he hadn’t even been aware of Rain’s feelings made Piper feel like she’d somehow betrayed her friend, and she didn’t know what to say now.

Ash gave a little chuckle of his own, but this close, she could feel that his amusement arose from a bitter annoyance. “I can’t imagine what I’ve done to earn her ire.”

Just as quietly, Piper said, “I’m not sure, but I can’t imagine making fun of her name helps.”

Ashmedai shot her an inscrutable look. “You see it as mockery? But she so often has thunder in her eyes.”

Piper sliced the pepper, and started cleaning another one. “Do you really care if she likes you or not?”

“Not particularly.” He spoke carelessly enough that she believed him. “But it’s novel to have a secret enemy. Pondering what part of my person so offends her is… entertaining.”

“Spoiled for choice,” muttered Piper, eyeing his neat potato dice as he scraped it into a bowl.

His teeth flashed in his wide grin. “Ah, but you’ve seen the worst of me, my teacher. And even you haven’t always complained.” 

“Do you want me to start? Because I can start.”

Raising his hands in mock defense, he said, “No, no. I appreciate your kindness, as you know. It makes honesty so much easier.”

“Less talk, more chop,” she ordered, and handed him the bowl of pepper slices. But as she moved on to the mushrooms, she asked, “What do you consider your best?”

“I can be very helpful,” he said, moving the chef’s knife in a flourish. “And quite attentive.”

“Especially to potential anchors,” said Malachai from right behind them. The fan noise had completely covered his approach, and Piper startled badly, her paring knife slipping across the mushroom to scrape on the cutting board. 

She whirled around, still holding the knife. “Don’t do that!”

“Eep!” said Malachai, without manifesting even a gram of regret. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just wanted to check in and…” He ran an eye over the bowls of chopped ingredients and leaned between Ash and Piper to grab the onions. His shoulder brushed Piper’s and she caught a whiff of the blueberries he’d been handling. The sweet scent seemed to bypass her brain and go straight to her gut.

When he pulled back with the onions, he met her gaze, his brown eyes keen. “You’re hungry,” he said softly. His ungloved hand twitched toward her and then he shook his head wryly. “I’m stealing her for a moment, Ash. I’ll send her right back.”

Ashmedai waved his knife in acknowledgement, and Malachai then pulled Piper across the kitchen with the sheer intensity of his gaze. On the other side of the central island, Rain was spreading batter in a sheet pan, with several large mixing bowls near her. Malachai put the bowl of onions down next to the range top and pulled on a clear pair of food prep gloves. Then he scooped some blueberries out of Rain’s bowls into a metal tumbler, added some whipped cream from another bowl, found a spoon, and presented the combination to Piper. When she hesitantly accepted it, he beamed.

“But what about hot chocolate later?” she asked, even as her stomach growled.

“That’s a treat. This is breakfast,” said Malachai. “Rain’s been munching away over here, but half-cooked potatoes and raw onions aren’t the same.”

“You forced me to eat,” grumbled Rain, and swung around Piper to slide the pan in one of the ovens.

“She was deflating,” Malachai confided in Piper. “Come on, eat. It’s going to start smelling really good in here soon and you don’t want to pass out _again_ , do you?” As if to demonstrate, he added the onions to a big sauté pan on the range.

Piper flushed and took a bite of the blueberries and cream. Her stomach clenched in response, ignoring her clear memory of three sandwiches earlier that day, and she found herself polishing off the rest of the fruit almost without thinking. As she did, the smell of oven-baked bacon grew, along with the delicious scent of onions sizzling in butter and underlaid by the heavenly aroma of baking cake.

“Mushrooms next,” said Malachai conversationally, shaking the pan. “If you could prioritize those—” He glanced up at her and then carefully put the pan down. “Come here.”

Catching up a dishtowel, he took her chin in one plastic-gloved hand and dabbed whipped cream off her upper lip and the side of her mouth. A shiver ran down Piper’s spine as she remembered the last time he’d caught her chin that way. Even through the plastic she could feel his warmth, and his gaze, intent on her mouth, made her want to lean in and resume the kissing.

“ _Malachai,”_ rasped Ashmedai, still at the prep station but now staring at them. “Those gloves aren’t nearly as protective as you seem to think.”

His hand fell away from her chin. “Oops,” he said softly, still looking only at her. Then he inhaled sharply and turned toward the other angel, pressing the dishcloth into Piper’s hand. “Damn, sorry about that, Ash. It was an accident this time.”

Rain snorted, but seemed entire intent on the bowl of muffin batter she was mixing. Piper, feeling embarrassed and confused, looked around until she spotted a sink where she could wash her cup and spoon. As soon as they were in the drying rack, she marched back to Ashmedai without looking at Malachai.

He’d taken over slicing the mushrooms, creating paper thin slices. She frowned down at them thoughtfully. “Make them thicker? Maybe four or five slices per mushroom. What you’re doing is very fancy but it’s going to turn into mushroom chips when they’re cooked.” Without responding, he adjusted the width of his cuts. “Also, are you all right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “The gloves weren’t entire useless, but I could certainly tell when he touched you again.”

Piper picked up her paring knife again, but toyed with it rather than slicing some mushrooms herself. “Does it hurt?”

Ashmedai glanced at her. “Losing an Anchor connection? Not directly, no. The consequences can hurt quite a bit, of course.”

She inspected the bowls of chopped ingredients and decided they probably needed more potatoes. It was all a matter of getting the right proportions. “If Alice wasn’t sick, it would be different, right?’

His knife stopped moving. “I wouldn’t be drained the same way, but I’m _always_ going to know when he touches you, Piper. There are better options if you want a dalliance. Half the women he’s recruited for the Ark think he’s scum.”

Piper remembered Rain saying much the same thing when they first met. But—“I’m not here to date,” she muttered. “I’m just here for a job.” She stabbed a whole potato with her knife.

He caught her wrist lightly and almost immediately released her. “Don’t.” He exhaled. “Please. Don’t talk about what you’ve brought to us as just a job. One way or another, you’re incredibly important to the Ark’s mission now.”

Piper couldn’t think about that. She picked up Ashmedai’s dropped knife and used it to chop the potato in half. “Sure. Still not here for a date.”

He took her paring knife and returned to slicing the mushrooms. His long hands dwarfed the small blade, but his cuts were just as precise. When he spoke again, his voice had that silky, teasing edge. “I hope you don’t expect everybody else to hold to your level of professionalism. There are quite a few romantic relationships here.”

She couldn’t help herself. “Including between angels and humans?”

Smiling at his knife work, Ash said, “Of course. As you said, we’re not automatons. We have desires. Her Majesty believes it’s important that we empathize with those we’re meant to protect.”

“Hah!” said Piper, a little too loudly. More softly, she repeated, “Hah. How did that work out for you?”

“Oh, well, I have all those extra modifications she gave me towards my primary purpose. I admit _empathy_ can fall to the bottom of the heap sometimes. But I assure you, everything else is in working order.”

“Hey,” called Malachai. “Somebody bring me those potatoes!”

Ash put his knife down and picked up the bowl. “My turn for a break,” he whispered, and wandered to the other side of the kitchen. Piper focused on her work, but her ears stayed pricked. She heard Rain’s voice, a little higher than usual, Ash’s low rumble and the occasional remark from Malachai.

Then, from the dining room came a man’s raised voice. “Hey, I thought there was supposed to be a breakfast!”

“Whoops!” said Malachai. “Hey, Piper, come take over here while I deal with ravenous beasts.” As she came around the center island, he pushed a sauté turner into her hand and then snatched two hot muffins from the tray Rain had just pulled out of the oven. Cursing and juggling them, he darted out to the dining room.

“Idiot,” muttered Rain, as Piper inspected the situation on the range and then gave experimental stirs to the two pans. Ashmedai leaned on the center island, nibbling on a crisp slice of bacon. She could just see his gaze on Rain’s back as he broke off a bite.

“Why _are_ you so cranky with me, stormy?” he asked, and Piper hissed under her breath.

Without looking at him, Rain said, “Because you’re loafing around, eating all the bacon.”

“Don’t I get to eat? I didn’t have breakfast either.”

“Non-Void-powered people get priority,” she said shortly, and bent to take a second tray out of the oven.

“Hmm,” he said, and snapped off another bite of bacon. He caught Piper looking at him, grinned at her, and then said, “Does it bother you that I call you stormy, stormy?”

Rain paused in the act of straightening. “No, it doesn’t.” 

Then her fingers tightened to white on the pan. She turned around to set it on the island beside Ashmedai as she said in an entirely different tone of voice, “I don’t care what you call me. If you’re out of work to do, why don’t you go back to the infirmary?”

“There’s plenty of work. But you should have some bacon too,” suggested Ashmedai, and tapped a strip against Rain’s mouth.

Rain, in the act of stepping back from the counter, froze. Then, her cheeks flushing, she snatched the slice of bacon from Ash’s hand and turned away, muttering, “I really hate you.”

“Hmm,” said Ashmedai again, and Piper whirled away from the range to physically put herself between Rain and Ash before Rain threw a bowl of batter at him.

“Go back to chopping, Ash,” she said firmly. “Right now.”

“Aww,” he said. “But I’m—”

“ _Right now_.” Piper met his gaze fiercely. In response, he laughed, patted her on the head and went back around the island to the prep station again.

Exhaling, Piper turned back to the range again and hurriedly stirred up some blackening potatoes and onions. In an undertone, she asked Rain, as she’d already asked Ashmedai, “Are _you_ all right?”

In a distant voice, Rain said, “I can’t decide who I hate more, Ash or Mal. What do you think?”

Carefully, Piper said, “It sounded like you were having fun with Mal earlier.”

“Hah! You mean because he made me laugh? That man isn’t an angel, he’s a devil, Piper. He could make God herself laugh while picking her pocket.”

For some reason the thought pleased Piper. “I can believe it.”

“He’d better get back in here again, or—”

“Hey, hey, here I am. What did I miss?”

Once again, Piper startled badly, but at least this time she didn’t have a knife. Instead she just flung sizzling onion at Malachai. It landed on his black t-shirt and in his hair.

He ducked, dramatically and far too late, and then rose up, brushing bits of food off him. “I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did,” said Rain roundly. “What did you do with Tachi?”

“Gave him the muffins and told him to come back in half an hour.” Malachai shrugged. “It’s Tachi so _probably_ we won’t have the entire Ark descending on us demanding muffins. He likes to keep his secrets. How’s the sautés? Should I leave you to it, Piper?”

But before she could answer, a ringing sound came from a hidden speaker overhead. Then the Red Queen said, “Sorry to interrupt this _delightful_ cooking party, but I need to borrow Ash and Piper. We have another wave of demons to repel and I need to see how they perform now that she’s got the void augment.”

Piper stood stock still. Then Malachai’s warmth pressed against half her back as he reached around her to take the sauté turner from her. In her ear, he said, “I’ll wait until you get back to make the hot chocolate.”

From across the kitchen, Ash snapped, “Malachai, _cut it out.”_

He bumped Piper to one side with his hip and said, “I’ll send them along momentarily, Your Majesty.”

Rain said, quietly, “Good luck, Piper. Be careful.”

Then Ashmedai’s long fingers wrapped around Piper’s, and he was pulling her after him out of the kitchen.


	19. 14. Boom Boom Boom

Piper held onto her composure until Ashmedai pulled her out into the corridor beyond the cafeteria. Then, instinctively, she dug in her heels. “Wait. Please wait.”

Despite her braking, he effortlessly pulled her forward another few steps. Panic swept over her and she clawed at his hand around hers. That got his attention and he paused to look back at her quizzically. “What is it? Duty calls.” He flashed his wicked smile at her. “You wanted me to defend the Ark, did you not?”

But his teasing didn’t penetrate the fog of fear that cloaked Piper.She dropped her gaze to the vivid purple void augment on her hand. It still felt stiff when she flexed her fingers. They’d told her it would stop Ashmedai from hurting her again, but they’d told her so many things that had turned out to be untrue. Even though she understood on a rational level that nobody had been consciously deceiving her (except Malachai), even though she thought she’d accepted her role as Anchor, now that push came to shove, fear made her weak at the knees. It didn’t make sense to her that five minutes ago they’d been cheerfully cooking a breakfast and now there were invaders and she was supposed to… what?

She had no idea, and it terrified her.

“Come.” Ashmedia tugged impatiently on her hand. “Shall I carry you? We could move very quickly then.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” muttered Piper, looking nervously at the walls where the Red Queen’s voice sometimes emerged. But if the inventor was observing, she had chosen not to interfere.

“If you had a suitable Warp, or skill with weapons, you could fight beside me. Since you do not, all you must do is be present.” He tilted his head. “I imagine it will be no different than a godstorm for you, and surely you aren’t frightened of those?” Almost bitterly, he added, “Sammael will not return while Anahel keeps him out.”

Piper stared at the tall warrior blankly. _Not frightened of godstorms?_ She had no idea what to say to that. How could she explain the fear she felt in every godstorm? Each time the blue clouds swelled overhead, she stood on a precipice she could never plan beyond. Would she find space in one of the government-run shelters? Would she be forced to bow her head in a prayer shelter? Sell herself to a dark shelter? Or would she end up caught on the street, as she almost had been when Malachai had found her? _Every storm_ brought not just the risk of death, but the even more terrifying risk of losing herself utterly. Of becoming...

Her fear tripped into panic again, sticking in her throat and making her heart pound in her ears. All she could think was that she really had sold herself on the mountainside, traded her independence for safety. She’d bound herself to this heartless murder machine who truly thought she had nothing to fear from godstorms—

Her thoughts began to stutter and fracture, splintering into incoherence. Her breath rasped in her ears and her head pounded. Phantom pain pulsed through her body.

“Come on,” cajoled Ashmedai, taking her free hand as well. His hand was very hot against her cold one. It was too much. She felt trapped.

With an explosion of kicking and shoving, she wrenched herself away from Ashmedai and staggered backward until she bumped into the corridor wall. Then she slid down the wall until she was crouching and put her arms over her head, panting.

For a moment, he left her alone. It was long enough for her thoughts to start reassembling. To survive, she had to go along with them for now. To survive, she had to lie to herself. She had to force herself to trust.

She felt Ashmedai take a step toward her and muscles already taut with anxiety curled her into more of a ball. He was puzzled, irritated, eager to get outside—

“Ash,” said Malachai from the cafeteria entrance, and there were slivers of glass in his voice.

The other man froze, before his presence retreated. Malachai’s dark chaos, razor-edged and frightening, replaced it. Something brushed her hair: a leather-gloved hand, lightly stroking down to the back of her neck. Softness barely brushed across the fine hair there, a sensation perfectly balanced on the boundary between ticklish and exquisite. She shivered as his delicate touch cut through her panic.

“Piper,” he murmured, and his fingers brushed down her neck, traced her collarbone and then gently lifted her chin. He crouched in front of her, smiling. The warmth in his dark eyes seemed at odds with the violence she could feel within him. But it was a nice smile all the same. He was a liar, but her need to survive meant so was she.

Fear trembled through her, coiling in her stomach, warring against the heat his proximity brought. She wanted to hide herself in him, to sever herself from Ashmedai who hovered, scowling, at the corner of her eye. And yet she knew she couldn’t. _Wouldn’t_. They really did need her.

A rational thought. But her body wouldn’t move. Helplessly, she searched Malachai’s face. All he had to say was _trust me, you’ll be all right,_ and she would have believed him, because she _needed_ to believe him. Because letting somebody else lie to her was easier than lying to herself.

Instead, he said, “Anahel has a greenhouse on the roof. Ashmedai is going to take you there to inspect it. I think Raphael will be there too, in case anything unexpected happens.”

Piper blinked, and a chuckle eased past the tightness in her throat. “You’re always so transparent.” But even so, her interest flared and her fear retreated in the face of a task that she understood and even felt confident about.

Malachai’s smile widened into a grin. “I’m a helper. Can you stand up, or will you roll upstairs like a pillbug?”

In response, Piper unfolded herself, sliding up the wall the same way she slid down. Over Malachai’s shoulder, she noticed Ashmedai glowering down the hall and dropped her gaze again as Mal also stood up. “It’s so strange. We were just cooking a few minutes ago. and now—there’s really going to be another battle?”

The Red Queen spoke from the ceiling. “This is not a drill, Miss Jones. Enemies rush toward the Ark even now. But do take your time coming to terms with the idea.” Although her tone of voice was notably neutral, Piper flinched anyhow. It reminded her too much of Warp tests at the hands of government scientists when she’d been a teenager.

“Shut up, Your Majesty,” said Malachai calmly. Once again he tipped Piper’s chin up with a gloved finger. “You mentioned cooking. I was going to bring you a slice of Rain’s coffee cake, but then I thought maybe you wouldn’t have much appetite right now. So I ate it instead.”

The fact that he was right and her churning gut couldn’t have handled any food didn’t erase Piper’s surge of outrage. “And now you’re, what, gloating about it? Are you ever going to—”

“Piper,” he whispered, as his head moved very close to hers. She could smell the cinnamon and raspberries on his breath. His gloved thumb brushed over her lips, parting them. Then he gave her the most delicate open-mouthed kiss she could imagine, and she could taste the brown-sugar sweetness of his mouth.

It lasted barely more than an instant, and then he withdrew—and then he was back again, for another shared breath, and he withdrew—and came back a third time. When he withdrew that time, he stepped back, leaving her leaning, slightly dazed and very hungry, against the wall.

“Hanging in there, Ash?” said Malachai, although his amused gaze remained on Piper.

“You’re a bastard, Mal,” growled Ashmedai, who was also leaning against the opposite corridor wall.

Malachai turned toward Ash with a big smile. “I’m a helper. Speaking of which, if I don’t get back to the kitchen, Rain is going to skin me. That wouldn’t be tasty at all! Enjoy the greenhouse, Piper. We’ll have hot chocolate after.”

With a casual wave, he went back into the cafeteria again. Piper watched him until he was gone, and then straightened up, self-consciously brushing off her clothes.

“The greenhouse?” she asked, walking toward Ashmedai.

“It will be easy to protect,” he said. “And apparently Raphael will be there.” As they walked side by side, he shot her a glance. “You know I’ve been nothing but honest with you, right?”

“Yes,” she said absently. “You’ve been exactly what I expect.”

“It’s the least I can do,” he said, and she couldn’t tell if he was being ironic or not. She walked along, blindly following Ashmedai’s lead as she remembered the taste of Malachai’s mouth.

They were both silent for an elevator ride and then as they emerged to walk down another hall to the exit, Ashmedai said without preamble, “After Sammael’s meltdown, we were caught in the first incarnarium. That was where I was born. We had a long time to learn to relax with monsters at the gates.”

The words shook Piper from her reverie of cake and hot chocolate, greenery and kisses, bringing her back to a world of violence and pain and collateral damage with the promise of answers to questions she hadn’t known existed.

She turned an inquiring face to her companion. “How long?”

Ashmedai shook his head, as if frustrated. “Only six years had passed when we returned. But inside… time was strange. It was much, much longer than six years, but our humans didn’t age at all.”

Once again, the Red Queen’s voice emerged from the ceiling, almost cutting Ashmedai off. “Raphael is on her way. I will also have a swarm present to protect you, Miss Jones, since Jabberwocky’s hallucinogen has only been imperfectly analyzed. Ash, this looks like another wave of ground troops, but expect surprises.”

As they approached the external door, it slid open and a nearly invisible cloud of glittering sparkles poured through it. Ashmedai stepped through ahead of Piper and turned back to wave her forward.

The roof was well-lit against the darkness of the night, but Piper still needed a moment for her eyes to adjust. She looked up at the sky and frowned. “No stars?”

An oddly modulated version of the Red Queen’s voice emerged from the cloud of sparkles. “Rainbow is a contained space, and Anahel specializes in daylight. We must rely on Ashmedai to light our nights. Now, while it is yet calm, shall we begin?”

Ashmedai smiled, and it was the same joyful smile he’d had when taunting Sammael. His moon halo rose behind him as dazzling stars swept across the sky. Watching him as he lifted his face to the sky and inhaled deeply, Piper felt oddly wistful, even as she felt the _draw_ of power being pulled through her. He truly was a beautiful creature, especially when unchained like this, and a small part of her regretted that she couldn’t truly free him to be what he was meant to be.

“Do you need your sword again?” she asked, her voice small.

He grinned, delight still transforming his face. “Probably not.”

“But it’s a good way for Piper to learn to use her void augment, so let’s have it anyhow,” said the Red Queen briskly, and the cloud formed into a miniature version of her avatar, complete with visor and crimson fingernails.

Piper hesitated, a twinge of remembered pain in her chest. “Can we wait for Raphael first?”

After a tiny pause, the Red Queen said, “She will be here in 42 seconds. Meanwhile, I shall explain what to expect. When one of your angels demands power above a certain threshold, the void augment will automatically refuse the request. But if there are charges in the augment, it will also queue the request, which you will feel as a phantom tingling and pressure. You can approve the request by sending a release signal.”

The door opened again and Raphael quietly stepped out as the Red Queen continued her explanation.

“Sending a release signal should be intuitive and nearly autonomous with your will. Alternatively, if you wish to deny the request, simply tell your angel to cut it out. You can also use a charge to _stop_ an action you disapprove. Given your past experiences and in the interest of full disclosure, I will admit that some angels will rely heavily on your ability to potentially restrain them, and at least one angel will require more restraint than you can provide. But we’ll discuss that more in two and a half days.”

Piper felt a painful tightness growing in her throat again and tried to swallow it. “How are charges recovered? How many do I have?” She vaguely remembered Raphael explaining some of this right after she’d woken up with the void augment but the details had been lost in the flurry of emotion.

“Usually an Anchor has three, although exceptions have been made. I can quickly recharge a void augment in my workshop; Raphael can do the same in the infirmary. In the wild, it will slowly recharge via your Warp circuit over a day of rest.” The Red Queen surveyed Piper. “Now, if you feel adequately prepared, I wish for Ashmedai to draw his sword. At your level of synchronization, it should last a sufficient amount of time. Enemies will be upon us in approximately one minute.”

The statement drew Piper’s attention to distant bellowing. She shivered and tried to think about gardens. “All right.”

Raphael studied her intently and then moved closer to her, putting her hand on Piper’s back gently. “You will be well, Miss Jones. I do not allow my patients to be harmed.”

Ashmedai’s smile had faded across the Red Queen’s lecture, but it returned now, as if he couldn’t help himself. He held out his hand and then pulled it toward himself. Once again, Piper felt the _draw_ increase

_and then the ugly dam across the stream between Ashmedai and her garden in Wonderland snapped closed_

and she felt the pressure and an itchy tingle in her hand, under the skin where she couldn’t reach. It became an ache, a deep urge. Instinct told her what to do if she wanted to resolve the pressure. It was a strong urge, but not an irresistible one. She’d certainly endured far worse.

“Yes, you can refuse, Miss Jones. But that may leave you to experience your first release in far more desperate circumstances. Would you prefer that?” Again the Red Queen’s voice was clinically neutral.

Piper lifted her hand, closed it into a fist, and then flung her fingers wide. Something flew from her to Ashmedai, and the moonglow sword that was a crystallization of his power followed his hand into the world.

He laughed and spread his wings. “Later, I’ll dance on the wind with you, Piper.” Then, with a rush of air, he spun into the sky.

“And now we will proceed to the greenhouse,” said the Red Queen calmly, and her miniature avatar dissolved into a cloud of sparkles again.

Piper dragged her gaze away from Ashmedai as Raphael exerted pressure on her back. As she walked toward the darkened glass structure, she once again thought of cake and hot chocolate. “Does Malachai have wings too? Do you?”

“If you are asking if we can fly, Malachai cannot and I can, although I lack Ashmedai’s elegance,” said Raphael, unruffled. “Almost all angels can fly, though techniques vary. Dantalion, for example, treats gravity and other such forces as yet another barrier for him to ignore.” She pulled open the door for the greenhouse and they stepped inside as motion-detecting lights brightened.

The Red Queen’s swarm spilled in through vents, her swarm-modulated voice saying, “Hmm. I’ll deal with those. You may do as you wish now, Miss Jones. It is important that you be in the same location as your angels, and as close to them as feasibly possible, so that the channel between the two of you isn’t attenuated. But as long as you stay safe, what you do is up to you.”

Piper’s brow wrinkled. “What would happen with Alice if she wasn’t ill? Her room is within the mountain, isn’t it?”

“Her pod rises,” said the Red Queen, her cloud swirling over to another vent. “And Anahel maintains a special bond with her that allows her to amplify her presence across Rainbow. It isn’t as good as dedicated Anchors, but it would have sufficed. Sufficient quantity can certainly make up for lower quality sometimes. Although perhaps not in this greenhouse’s case.”

Warm, humid air brushed Piper’s cheek as she moved to the center of the greenhouse and looked around. Although it had many of the same elements of the tropical garden in terms of equipment and surfaces, it was clearly focused on growing food plants. It also had far fewer plants, a number of which were entirely dead. Piper’s quick, professional take was that it would be easiest to throw everything out and start over. But she already knew Anahel would resist such a practical idea.

Instead she moved over to a table with a single blooming tomato plant, sprawling and unstaked. None of the flowers had been pollinated. Maybe if she could revive a few of the plants, Anahel would let her dispose of the ruined ones.

As she looked around for something to use as a stake, the distant bellowing was punctuated by a boom. She froze, looking up at the glass roof, expecting to see the boiling clouds of a godstorm again, but the brilliant sky was still clear. “What was that?”

Raphael moved closer to her as there was another boom. “I don’t know.”

“Not lightning,” said the Red Queen. “Investigating… oh.” Her voice flattened on the final word. “How jolly. The corpses of this batch of demons are exploding… and _what the hell?”_ It was the first time Piper had heard more than mild amusement or irritation in the Red Queen’s voice. “So many new experiences have come with you, Miss Jones. Please contact Ashmedai and bring him back to the Ark, _immediately_.”

Even as Piper’s mouth shaped the words ‘ _What? How?_ ’ she thought of all the voices in her head after she’d touched the Looking Glass with Alice. Save for Twelve and that one moment with Ash when Jabberwocky invaded, they’d become a distant murmur since the Red Queen had injected her with her little remedy. But they were still there. An orchestra in Wonderland, and…

Tentatively she reached out, trying to talk along the same channel she’d heard the angel before. _Ashmedai?_

 _Yes, my teacher_? His mental voice was odd. Twinned. The joy she felt across their bond seemed more savage and violent. _How may I please you?_

Closing her eyes, pressing her lips together, Piper shook her head, as if she could shake away the strangeness of his layered voice. _The Red Queen says get back to the greenhouse now—_

The bellowing was very close now, and the floor of the greenhouse shuddered as heavy figures charged across the roof. Then a huge, dark shape smashed into the glass wall with the horrible sound of shattering glass. The temperature dropped in the greenhouse as the warm air rushed out. A roaring figure clawed at the glass as two more pushed past the first.

Piper blinked in shock, and then most of her emotions dropped away, overshadowed by fury. Without thinking, her fingers closed on some branch clippers on the potting bench.

Raphael moved between her and the shattered glass. “Troubling,” she said. “They are not properly alive, and could be quite dangerous. Fortunately I am here.”

The Red Queen’s swarm flowed around Piper, until the cloud enveloped her head and sparks glittered from the corners of her eyes. “They may not be properly alive, but I need a living specimen anyhow. If possible.”

As the two uninjured demons focused on Piper, they charged toward her. Raphael moved in short, efficient bursts, sweeping her hand across first one and then the other. Ichor spurted from slashes in their chests as Piper realized the healer held a tiny blade. Then Raphael had plunged her hand into one of the gaping wounds and pulled out a throbbing, oversized, dripping heart. “Their anatomy is as expected, however.” She dropped it, lunged toward the other one as it reeled and repeated the maneuver. Then two bodies were twitching on the floor.

Piper stumbled backward in instinctive horror. The voice from the cloud vibrated around her as the Red Queen said, “Beware the bodies, Raphael. They not only explode, they pull in three more when they do. If you must kill them, get them out of there.”

Moving just as efficiently, Raphael grabbed each of thebodies by an arm and hauled them to the broken wall, where she flung them out. They both exploded into a flare of purple and white light before they hit the ground. Then the healer crouched down to finish off the one who had thrown himself into the glass wall, keeping her gaze on the explosions. “Extracting the hearts did not stop the explosion. I will investigate other organs.”

The Red Queen muttered in Piper’s ear, but as if to herself. “I suspect a universal factor of three was a mistake on Jabberwocky’s part. At least, I hope so. Malachai—” The murmur faded away as Piper caught a whiff of the same floral scent that had made her try to teach Advanced Hugging to Ashmedai.

Clutching her clippers, she said, “You Majesty? The hallucinogen?”

“Yes, yes,” said the Red Queen. The sparkles brightened, moving uncomfortably close to her mouth and nose, but the scent faded away. As Raphael flung away another body and took up a position at the broken wall, a beam of blue-white light lit up the night beyond. Another boom suggested Raphael hadn’t yet found an explosion-causing organ.

Ashmedai laughed in her mind. _Death by incineration seems to work._

Another demon smashed into a different wall and Piper yelped, spinning toward it. Her heart pounded and she felt angrier than she ever had before. Poor Anahel’s greenhouse was getting utterly wrecked, and she’d never wished so hard for a Warp she could weaponize. The Red Queen had said something about handing out weapons, and she wondered why she hadn’t been handed something. That would have to change.

Then Ashmedai, silhouetted against his moon halo, appeared behind three demons and swept his blue-white sword blade through them. He gave Piper a bared-teeth grin before vanishing in a streak of light.

“You have a perfectly weaponized Warp, and you weren’t given a weapon because you do not yet understand your own value,” said the Red Queen tartly.

“Are you _reading my mind_? You’re not an angel!”

“I can hardly avoid it when I’m cloaking you like this. Now stop thinking so hard and focus on not getting killed, there’s a good girl.”

Fuming, Piper backed away from the opening with Ashmedai’s bisected victims. Once she was behind a table, she knocked it over and then crouched behind it, squinting in anticipation of the burst of light. When the explosion came, the glass in the rest of the wall shattered, but Piper had intelligence to report. “Raphael,” she called over her shoulder. “The explosion comes from the lower half.”

“I want whatever it is!” the Red Queen vibrated. “I need to know how he’s opening portals within Rainbow—”

“Understood,” said Raphael, darting past Piper to the shapes wavering into existence. Her hand swept out, lower this time, and two of them roared as ichor gushed from their abdomens. But there were far more than two this time and five more closed around Raphael while two of them, crowded away from their closest prey, looked around for something to destroy.

“Down,” hissed the Red Queen, and somehow the word acted on Piper’s body directly. She collapsed bonelessly behind the table, biting her lip bloody to stop from screaming Raphael’s name. Simple math flashed through her mind. It wouldn’t take too many rounds of this before they’d be completely overwhelmed.

“She’ll be fine,” muttered the Red Queen. “Jabberwocky is constrained by resource limitations just like anybody else, and we’re very far from our last stand.”

On the heel of her words came a soft _pop,_ far less concussive than the explosive booms. Raphael said quietly, “That was unfortunate. My apologies, Red Queen. Piper Jones?”

The healer appeared, looking over the makeshift barrier, absolutely drenched in the demons’ vital fluids. A look of relief appeared on her face as she saw Piper. “When I lost track of you, I had to act. Living patients are more important than research material. However, it is safe now.”

Slowly, Piper stood up, realizing as she stared at Raphael that despite what the Red Queen had said, the other had been injured. Her own blood ran from a truly awful looking rip into her shoulder, and along her torso. “You’re hurt.”

Raphael gave her a puzzled look, as if totally oblivious to her own injuries. “I’m fine.” Beyond her, where there had been nine active demons, there was only demon blood, soaking into the remaining plants and puddling on the floor.

“Whoops,” said Malachai, from behind Piper. She couldn’t even be startled, so stunned was she by what Raphael had somehow done. “Dantalion’s outside doing some clean-up with Ashmedai—the mildest exercise, Raphael, I promise. You and Piper should get inside before—”

He moved past the table as he spoke, dragging two limp demons by their arms.

Raphael said sharply, “Malachai Beckett, what are you thinking—ah, they are unconscious? Very good.”

Shrugging, he said, “I preferred that rather than waiting to see if I could nullify the explosion.” He gave Piper his charming smile.“Piper, could you take Raphael inside and help her get—”

“They’ve stopped spawning new soldiers when they explode—” said Dantalion from the shattered wall where Raphael had demolished nine demons, and then stopped. “Raphael,” he said softly. “You’re hurt.”

“Oh well,” said Malachai, almost under his breath. Then, loudly, “Look what I have! Research material!”

But Raphael turned toward Dantalion, and nobody looked at Malachai’s prizes. Piper saw the giant claw wounds and the white of bone on Raphael’s back and momentarily forgot how to breathe as the healer took a step toward Dantalion and said, “I’m quite well, but you—”

“Raphael,” she gasped, suddenly understanding why Malachai had been asking _her_ to help Raphael indoors, and how it had to be done. “Help me. Please.”

The healer pivoted toward Piper so quickly she felt like vomiting. No body that damaged should have moved like that. “Yes. Are you injured? If it’s safe, I will take you to the infirmary—”

“Malachai—” said the Red Queen, with a note of distress new to Piper in her voice.

“Yeah,” he said, and dropped his ‘research material’ into the puddle of their kindred. “Get her out of here.” He moved toward Dantalion, who had a spiral of darkness spreading around him as he stared at Raphael’s back.

Raphael stepped around the upturned table and took Piper by the hand. “Come.”

Dantalion growled something barely audible, and Malachai said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. But you’ll only make it worse if you worry her, you know. Come on, let’s—” His words faded into murmurs as Raphael tugged Piper out of the greenhouse.

The Red Queen’s sparkling cloud lifted from around Piper’s head, her words trembling in Piper’s ears. “Get her to the infirmary. Make her treat herself. Do whatever you have to.”


	20. 15.1: Tragicomic

As they re-entered the Ark, Raphael said to Piper, “If you feel faint, I can support you.”

“No!” Piper cringed away from the idea of leaning on the injured healer. If she felt faint, it was because of the deep gashes on Raphael’s back that had shredded both her uniform and her flesh. _Why didn’t she seem to feel them? Some form of shock?_

Instinctively, Piper’s social filters for dealing with an unpredictable situation kicked in. They’d been so very useful in godstorm-induced tragedies, and it looked like they’d be useful here too. In the world of godstorms, bad news and unexpected questions waited until they’d reached shelter.

“No, I can walk. Just… let’s go to the infirmary, please?”

Raphael scanned Piper, and once again Piper realized eyes she’d originally seen as bright brown were as scarlet as Sammael’s. She’d found Anahel’s eyes friendly and charming, but Raphael had a touch of Sammael’s alien distance in her gaze.

“Very well,” said Raphael. “We shall proceed.” She waved politely at Piper, and the blood crusting her shoulder flexed and oozed. As they walked down the hall, she continued. “Was this your first experience with a violent altercation, Miss Jones?”

An innocent, well-meant question, but it made Piper flinch and shake her head. A dozen memories of other scenes of violence flashed through her mind, some laboratory-controlled and some a natural outgrowth of being a Warped in the modern era. “No… but this was… different.”

A dissatisfied expression on her face, Raphael said, “Yes. Those constructs were cruel in every possible way. Our enemy _must_ be defeated.”

After a moment spent worrying about Raphael, Piper processed what she’d said. “Cruel how?”

“They were crafted as cannon fodder. And yet they had a sense of pain appropriate only to those expected to engage in acts of self-preservation. Cruelty, plain and simple.”

“Angels normally feel pain, don’t they?” Piper latched onto this topic like it was a life vest.

Raphael snorted. “Yes, they do, no matter how certain individuals wish to deny it.”

The long hall stretched ahead of them. Piper felt like they walked through syrup. Her lip stung as she gnawed on it, wanting desperately to broach the topic of Raphael’s painless injury but afraid of triggering some kind of delayed reaction in the hallway. She couldn’t let the healer collapse until they were safe. Whatever that meant in this new context.

Piper realized she’d begun to outpace Raphael. She turned back and saw the healer’s gaze was distant and foggy. “Raphael! Are you—”

Garnet eyes focused on her. “My apologies. I was… distracted.” She frowned. “I should not have been. How vexing. Come, the infirmary is near.”

As the door appeared along the gently curving hallway. Piper said carefully, “Raphael, you need to take care of yourself too.”

They stepped into the infirmary. Raphael’s mouth thinned as she saw Ashmedai’s unoccupied, messy bed and she took two steps toward it before spinning back around to Piper. “Yes, that’s important. However, I’m fine.Come and—”

“I’m feeling better,” Piper interrupted, staring hard at the healer. She took a deep breath. “But you’re injured, Raphael. It distracted you in the corridor, right? Just now?”

“Did it?” An odd twist of expression that seemed half-smile, half-frown passed over her face. “It did. And that means I’m injured?”

Piper wanted to both laugh and cry in response. “Isn’t that what pain means?” She pointed at the blood crusting on Raphael’s shoulder. “You said angels feel pain. Don’t you?”

She glanced at her own shoulder, but without any sign of interest. “Of course I do. For example, seeing my patients suffer is painful.”

“And that’s all? Nothing for yourself?” Piper didn’t believe it.

Once again, Raphael’s gaze went distant,. “Maybe I _am_ injured somehow. He is so very…”

Exasperation mingled with the particular horror of standing next to a healer covered in blood, trying to convince her she was herself wounded. “Raphael, we are talking about _you_ and _your body.”_

“Oh, my body is fine.” She moved the wounded shoulder and something flaked away. “I heal even now, you see?” Her brow furrowed. “It didn’t worry you, did it? I swear, you shall never need to worry for me, Miss Jones. Even if some disaster befell me, I am replaceable, you know.”

“What a terrible attitude!” Piper burst out. Desperately she flailed for some other way to get through to the healer. She didn’t feel pain, she didn’t value herself— “Raphael, you’re not _hygienic_ right now.”

Raphael blinked, and glanced down at herself. Abruptly, most of the drying blood on her skin and clothing vanished, disintegrating beyond dust. However, the stains and mess from Raphael’s own injuries remained.

“Yes, those,” said Piper accusingly. “And the horrible slashes on your back, how can you even be _walking_? _”_ Her distress slipped past her filters and she covered her mouth.

“We are very strong,” said Raphael absently. “But you are correct. I ought to set a good example for others. And others might be as unsettled as you are.” Without hesitation, she unbuttoned her uniform top and tried to pull it off. Between the injury on her back and the one on her shoulder, this proved more difficult than expected.

With an unusual note of embarrassment in her voice, Raphael added, “Come help me, please?”

Piper hurried over. “Yes, of course. Tell me what to do?”

“I shall.” A smile flickered across her face. “It will be a lesson for you.”

Piper followed Raphael’s instructions to fetch wound-cleaning supplies and what Raphael called ‘voidform bandages,’ and then helped her methodically cut away fabric and clean the two different injury sites. Up close, Piper could see that some kind of accelerated healing process was at work. She could no longer see the disturbing glints of white in the deep slashes on Raphael’s back. But the healer didn’t flinch at all as Piper dabbed at the edges with a wound cleaning solution.

“This really doesn’t hurt?”

Composedly, Raphael said, “It’s uncomfortable, as it has been. But it is one of many pieces of data I am constantly evaluating.”

Pulling her mouth to one side as she tweezed out some fibers, Piper said. “What would you expect if I were injured like this? Or… Or Ashmedai?”

“You would be nonfunctional. An angel so injured would be… suffering.”

“But you’re not?” Piper dried the area and moved onto applying the bandage strips.

Raphael shifted on her stool, lowering her head. “No.” After a moment, she said, her voice softened, “It is how I was made. Suffering is a drive to seek what one needs to be hale. Other angels suffer so I can find them and they can find me. Obviously, my suffering would only lead me in circles. It is… _unnecessary._ ”

Piper pressed her hand over the bandaged, injured area, feeling the heat from the injuries and the surrounding skin. It didn’t seem any different than the rest of her body. Her wounds would heal cleanly.

And yet she wasn’t as sure about the shadow over Raphael’s mind. She’d always been so focused on her own survival—even when she gave up her safe places to children—that the other woman’s total lack of self-care bewildered her. It was like looking through a keyhole at a puzzle. She could see some of the pieces that lay beyond, but she couldn’t make out a coherent shape.

“What _did_ distract you in the corridor, if not these wounds?”

Raphael’s shoulders bowed as she continued looking down at her hands. Her strawberry blond braid, tucked over her uninjured shoulder, just brushed her curled palm. At last, she said, “The very question I ought to ponder. Certainly not an injury, for all that…” She trailed off.

With a whoosh and the hum of the ventilation system, the Red Queen’s avatar formed in the middle of the infirmary. “Very good, Miss Jones. I will relieve you here and now. I have some work for Raphael—”

—and Piper _knew_ the task would be one that kept Raphael still and and restful while her own magic did the necessary work—

“And what will you do now? You have some free time ahead.”

“Me? What would you like me to do?” _Free time_ seemed like a novel concept under the circumstances.

The Red Queen drifted to Raphael, running a semi-tangible hand through the angel’s braid in a carelessly fond gesture. Raphael lifted her head, her fists closing and her eyes alert. Then she stood and began to clean up the supplies from her wound tending.

“Ideally, something quiet, useful and out of my hair, which leaves you on hand for whatever I need. Does anything spring to mind?”

Piper knew exactly what she wanted to do. “Yes. I think I’ll go back to the cafeteria for breakfast first.”

“Very good,” said the Red Queen. “Malachai is waiting for you.”

***

Piper found her way to the cafeteria on her own, and entered feeling proud of herself. She closed her eyes as she stepped in. inhaling the delicious scent of coffeecake and hash, and recognizing the chocolate underneath.

“Welcome back,” said Malachai, and she opened her eyes to find him standing beside a table set for two, with a tall steaming pot and a plate of cake and muffins. He looked rumpled, but he’d changed his clothes and his hair curled damply.

She glanced around the room. It was currently empty, although the trays of food on the self-service station had been ransacked. “Where did everybody go?”

“Came, ate and left,” said Malachai, smiling oddly as he scratched his chin. “Rain was in a bad mood for some reason. She went to her office and left me here to clean up. Such an optimist!”

Piper eyed Malachai with a half-smile. “I’m not cleaning up for you.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. I can at least put leftovers away. I’m not one to throw away my own hard work. Come and have your hot chocolate.” He sat down, pushing the other chair out with a foot.

Self-consciously, Piper seated herself. She’d wanted to find Malachai and the promised hot chocolate but she’d hadn’t expected it to be quite such a private situation. As he poured some hot chocolate into her cup, and then offered her a bowl of whipped cream, the word ‘ _date’_ kept surfacing, along with her own declaration to Ashmedai that she hadn’t come to the Ark for any such thing.

Perhaps she ought to tell Malachai that as well.

But he smiled, and once again her pleasure in his company edged out more abstract concerns. Instead she sipped the rich, velvety hot chocolate, which tasted like only milk and sugar and melted chocolate (with a touch of vanilla) could, and closed her eyes as the warmth tingled through her. After that, she tasted the raspberry coffeecake Malachai deftly slid onto her plate. She glanced up, met his amused gaze, remembered his kiss, and lowered her gaze.

Clearing her throat, she said, “It’s very good.”

“Delicious,” he agreed, leaning his chin on one hand, running a finger around the rim of his own cup. Although his gaze stayed on her, it wasn’t the teasing gaze he’d used to shake her out of her fear earlier. He _thought_ about her, although what those thoughts were, she couldn’t guess.

Or maybe she could, given the situation of the Ark right now. Multiple people had spoken of her importance in the current situation. She had trouble grappling with the idea on an emotional level, but factually she could see the truth.

“Is everything all right up there?” She tilted her gaze to the roof.

He followed her gaze and then poured himself some chocolate as well. “Oh, yes. It was all wrapped up before you left. I delivered Her Majesty’s prizes to her lab and that was that. We have some time before he comes up with another attack.”

Piper contemplated the result of the most recent attack. “That seems like a good thing. What with the hallucinogen and the dreams and the walking bombs and everything.”

“It is, yes.” He drank his chocolate without whipped cream. “He’s sending new attacks at us a little faster than we can adapt to them.”

“Then how can you be so sure we have time?” She squinted at him, trying to actively read him.

His amusement curled through her like another taste of chocolate. “You might as well just enjoy your breakfast. There’s a reason I’m sure and I’m not going to tell you what it is.”

Piper frowned, stuck out her tongue and took a bite of coffeecake. After she swallowed, she said, “All right. What about the others? Dantalion? Where’d he go? And Ashmedai?”

Malachai chuckled. “I sent Ash to bring Rain her hot chocolate, of course. That girl. She sets herself up so much better than I ever could.”

She tapped her fork on the plate. “Why do you keep tormenting Rain?”

“You know, the best part about your little Warp gift is that it may tell you inconvenient things, but it doesn’t force _me_ to do anything. Like, say, tell you the truth. Hiding things from you is just a matter of distracting you—and that always sounds like such a fun proposition, Piper. In this case…” He only had his typical hint of a smile as he met her gaze, once again running his finger along the rim of his cup.

She bit back a response, because she really did want to know why he kept harassing Rain.

Distantly, slowly, as if measuring out his words, he said, “If I answer that honestly, you have to answer my own question.”

“All right,” said Piper readily. She didn’t have anything like Malachai’s secrets. “But keep in mind I’m asking about you, not Rain. No spilling her secrets to explain yourself.”She poured herself more hot chocolate, leaving only the dregs behind.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re committed to making this as hard as possible, aren’t you? Let’s see.” Eyeing her, he lifted his cup to his mouth and then discovered he’d already drained it. With his gaze on the near-empty chocolate pot, he said, “You understood me perfectly yesterday, you know. I’m helping Rain because it helps me get what I want.”

“Which is?” She sipped her chocolate, smiling at him over the rim.

He raised his gaze to her. “You, Miss Jones.”

The thrill of the chocolate ran through Piper. She enjoyed it for a long moment before recognizing the distraction for what it was. Narrowing her eyes, she put the cup down. “Flirt.”

“Nonetheless,” he said, his calm, clear expression doing very little to hide his internal chaos from her.

She shook her head. “I’m not buying it. Rain is not a barrier between you and your…. your flirtations. Whoever they might be.”

Malachai snorted. “Hah. Shows what you know. If not for her, I would have happily spent our kitchen time chopping vegetables with you. I could have showed off my juggling.”

“And now more distractions.” Piper sighed sadly. “I keep lowering my expectations for you and being disappointed.”

“Ouch,” he said mildly, the simple word covering a vivid flare of annoyance. As he sat back, his brow furrowed.

“One more try?” she encouraged, and then sipped her chocolate again, hoping he’d succeed this time.

He looked down at his plate, a scowl slowly settling on his face, until Piper solicitously replaced his empty one with her crumb-filled one. “To help you think,” she told him when he glanced up.

The tangled darkness that had spread over him retreated as a smile, too brief, flickered over his face. “You muddle everything. What used to be so clear… isn’t.” As Piper regarded him steadily, he added, “I wasn’t born nearly as benevolent and helpful as I am now, you know.”

“Do tell,” said Piper, with a neutrality she took pride in until Malachai wrinkled his nose and threw a crumb at her before continuing.

“There was a time when I was quite a thorn in the Ark’s side. I even--” He stopped himself and then shook his head. “Anyhow, with some help, I realized something.”

When Piper raised her eyebrows, he said, “Chaos and destruction and death always win. They _always_ win, in the end. They don’t need my help. Being on that side is playing the game on easy mode. The _real_ game is defeating them.” He fell silent, looking at her side of the table in an abstracted kind of way.

After a moment, Piper asked cautiously, “Is that… your answer?” She could almost see it as one, if a really sideways and broad one.

He closed and opened the hand still resting on the table. “That’s the most honest answer I can give you without—” he grimaced as he finished. “Without spilling Rain’s little secrets.”

The cafeteria door opened and Malachai shot to his feet. “And there’s Sajan! Duty calls, Miss Jones. Don’t forget to bus your table when you’re done.” Without pausing, Malachai strode over to where the Ark’s director stood, greeting him with his usual cheer, as if his previous conversation with Piper had never happened.

***

Ashmedai found Rain in the sanctuary of her little office, which didn’t have a door and gave her a clear view of the long hall leading to it. She sank down in her chair as he strode down the hall. He held an insulated, covered mug, which he lifted as he stepped uninvited over her office’s threshold.

“Malachai’s famous hot chocolate,” he said in his amused rumble.

“Great. Leave it on the coffee stand and go away,” said Rain, but without much hope of being obeyed. Somehow, even though she’d watched him carefully, Malachai had managed to destroy her carefully cultivated non-relationship with Ashmedai just by putting them in the same room.

He did at least put the hot chocolate on the coffee stand wedged between two overflowing shelf units. But then he advanced on her desk, which she’d unfortunately recently cleared off so she was harder to surprise. Harder to surprise meant harder to hide.

She managed to both hunch and sprawl in her chair, swiveling to glare up at him as he came around the side of the desk. He looked down at her, his hands in his pockets.

“What?” she snapped, when he didn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you mind? I have work to do.”

Silkily, he said, “I get the impression you dislike me more than you actually like anybody else here.”

“Possibly,” she conceded. “That seems like a good reason to go away to me.”

He glanced around, and saw her guest chair and sofa were _(_ _yes!)_ both covered in equipment. But then, as if refusing to be inconvenienced, he instead sat on the floor. It meant with her current posture, she was just barely looking down at him, and it wasn’t better. He seemed so much more damn _accessible_ like that. She could have brushed his hair from his face just by leaning over.

“This isn’t going away,” she pointed out instead. “We’ve even established that I don’t like you. What more do you want?”

His dark eyes glittered as he studied her face. “I’m getting exactly what I want right now.”

Rain’s knees trembled and she pressed them together. She wouldn’t ask. He was just teasing her. _She wouldn’t ask._

“What’s that?” she snapped, and then clapped her mouth shut.

Ashmedai gave her that bared-teeth smile of his. “When I’m around you, stormy, I feel like I matter.”

“Because I hate you,” she said flatly.

He shrugged. “Mattering is mattering.”

“Oh my fucking god,” muttered Rain, straightening up and focusing on the server health scan she’d left running. “You’re the worst part of the Ark.”

He tilted his head. “Nobody else seems to think so.”

“Hah!” she said, and irritably saved off the scan results to study later.

“It’s true. I know many of them very well. They would say the worst thing is the isolation, or the state of the world, or maybe Tachi.”

When she didn’t answer, his finger touched the bare skin between her sock and her capri pants. She jolted to her feet, sending her chair rolling into a drift of manuals. He rose fluidly as she did.

“Stop touching me. Get away from my desk.”

Ashmedai deliberately settled against her desk, the glitter in his eyes now a sparkle. “What’s my incentive here? You’ll get mad at me if I don’t?”

Rain’s hands were already fists. She was so much weaker than him, so much weaker than any angel. That was _why_ she shook her hand open before hitting him solidly in the chest, hard enough to make her own hand ache. “There’s your incentive. You think this is a game? It’s not.”

Then she caught up with the expression on his face, and her latent fear and active annoyance became the thrill of terror, not the least because she could see arousal in the dilation of his pupils.

Softly, he said, “Attacking me may not be what you want to do, stormy.”

Hurriedly, she said, “I’m not attacking you. How could I attack you? You crumpled a damned mountain.”

“No? Then what?” He touched his chest where she’d hit him.

“I’m making a point. Either you’re the kind of bully who beats up the weak, or you’re not, at which point, stop acting like one. And, if you are, well, at least my fears are confimed.”

He looked down at her, shifting his position so somehow she was leaning on the desk and he was looming over her. “How about being just a little bit of a bully? Maybe only to you? You’re the one who hates me, not the other way around.”

Once again, Rain’s knees trembled. The terror making her heart race twisted together with something else that sent a wicked warmth racing through her.

 _He’s playing with you_ , she told herself fiercely. 

Aloud, she said, “I’ll just have to try harder then.”

Her hitting hand was a fist again. She really had hit him the first time to make a point about her comparative powerlessness. It’d been open-palm because it had been communication, not assault.

When she hit him a second time, she again used an open palm. But she no longer knew what she was saying. He clearly saw it coming, and did nothing to stop her. But once she smacked him, he caught her wrist on the rebound.

“My turn,” he whispered. With his free hand, he gently tucked her hair away from her face, finger combing strands behind her ears. She froze under his touch, like a deer in headlights as each stroke of his fingers against her head sent fireworks through her.

When he stopped, he also released her wrist as he said, “If you keep hitting me, it’s only fair I get to play too.”

She only barely avoided stumbling against him, she’d been leaning into his touch so hard. He didn’t move, looking down at her with a solemn mouth and a wild light in his eyes.

Rain didn’t know how she felt about anything. He was right there, and she hated him, and he was _right there_ , and his one hand had been so delicate against her hair while his other had been so firmly holding her wrist. She’d seen him flirt with other staff members; he was playing now, she’d just made the terrible mistake of attracting his attention—

It didn’t matter. She was tired, emotional, and still suffering the remnants of the loneliness that had overwhelmed her when the Jabberwocky’s Rex had released his hallucinogen. Preparing the midnight breakfast hadn’t helped nearly as much as she’d wanted. And then he’d found her here.

Her closed fist bounced lightly off his chest.

It was like she’d flipped a switch. His hands closed on her hips and lifted her to the desk, even as his mouth covered hers. Taking advantage of her shock, his tongue probed within, licking her own as his hands ran up her torso to cup her breasts. A groan broke from her, and he deepened the kiss ruthlessly as he pinched her hardening nipples.

Then he dragged his mouth away, pushing her down on the regrettably clean surface of her desk as he nipped at her neck. He pulled her shirt up, enclosing her breasts in the warmth of his hands and rubbing circles around the sensitized tips. Her breathing, already shallow, hitched as he delicately ran his thumbs over the raised flesh.

As his wet mouth replaced one of his hands, she mumbled, “I really, _really_ hate you.”

Ashmedai’s head lifted, canting a little. “And yet I do not hear you saying _stop_.”

In fact, her fingers were twisted in his hair, and when he took her other breast in his mouth and his hand moved between her legs, she gasped and twisted and absolutely didn’t say _Please!_ His fingers stroked along the outer curves of her core, so easily explored through her soft cotton pants. When he pressed hard, a jolt of pleasure shot through her, mingling with the motion of his mouth and tongue to utterly daze her.

She very much hated him, and she very much wasn’t saying _Stop_ , and she realized distantly that she probably ought to be thinking about this whole thing more. So fast! It had happened so fast. Hot chocolate still steamed in its mug. He wouldn’t leave and he wouldn’t leave, and then this? Had it been inevitable? Had he come intending on doing this?

 _He’d come because he’d been lonely, too,_ said a small voice inside, and she felt ashamed of her cruelty.

Then his fingers dipped under her pants and fear finally overtook the confused passion he’d evoked, even as she edged toward climax. “Stop!” she gasped.

And he did. Not at once, but close enough. When he lifted his head and pulled her shirt down, his fingernails had bitten into his palms. His smile, when he smiled, was bared teeth again. “I think I _am_ your bully, stormy. But I’ll leave you alone now. That will make later so much more fun.”

Then he was gone, stalking down the hall away from her office, leaving Rain to slide off the desk and try her best to figure out what had happened to her carefully managed life.


	21. 15.2: Tragicomic More

Piper escaped the cafeteria while Malachai was busy with Sajan, making sure to clean up after herself but trusting Malachai to get the rest of the food stored away. She wanted some time to herself, time where she could work with her hands instead of waiting for somebody else to explain what was happening next. Finding her way to the tropical garden was a little more of a challenge than the cafeteria had been, but she made it with only a single detour down a wrong hallway.

It was a useful detour, too, because it brought her to the corridor where Sajan and, judging from the nameplates, Anahel and several others had their offices. It gave her a much better sense of the labyrinthian layout of the Ark, and she arrived at the tropical garden with a pleasant sense of anticipation.

As she stepped into the humid room and paused to listen to the silence of the garden, the anticipation settled into an eagerness to _get doing_ that reminded her of childhood summers spent with her grandmother. She touched her head, remembering she’d left her hat in her room before heading to the cafeteria. Probably for the best in these dynamic circumstances, if she wanted to avoid losing it.

She wandered through the room for a few minutes, inspecting the equipment rather than the plant life this time. Anahel might have been unlucky with plants, but she was meticulous, if a bit odd, in caring for her equipment. Piper found a half-dozen hand spades, all shiny and sharp, secreted around the room, and a single pair of pruning shears left dusty. The angel administrator had accumulated quite a collection of different styles of pots stacked on one side of the room, while most of the larger plants were still in the containers they’d been sold in.

Piper also found a truly fanciful set of watering cans that she lingered over. She could, she thought, construct a water feature with them that would highlight the collection and honor Anahel’s dedication. But she’d need to make some sketches and a shopping list first.

She also found several storage sheds with more esoteric supplies: filters, bags of coarse gravel, a light meter, soil testers, and more. They’d been stored neatly—Anahel was clearly a neat person—but without much logic. It was exactly the kind of task Piper was looking for, and she happily spent the next hour examining the equipment, creating an inventory list in a grubby notebook she found, and rearranging it in the order she found the most sensible.

As the work relaxed her, she found herself thinking absently through recent events. Her early impressions of the Ark, after getting past the first shock and the alien unfamiliarity, was that of a family. It reminded her of the crew of the _Michiru_ , before Sammael had destroyed the bonds between them.

Her skin prickled as she remembered that summer. Looking back, she could see some of the pressures that had exploded among the crew present even before the Sammael Incident. The crew had worked together smoothly, but there’d been monsters in the deep that had crawled to the surface in the wake of the trauma.

She hesitated, and then focused on putting away what she’d inventoried. Once she had everything stored safely, she stretched and moved into the most overgrown part of the garden. A trellis arch draped with blooming climbers had earthen pots haphazardly arranged beneath it. After moving a couple of them aside, she sat down, leaning against them and closing her eyes.

 _Dantalion_ , she whispered in her mind, trying to reach him as she’d reached Ashmedai before.

In response, she heard the faintest echo of a double bass, but nothing else. The curve of the large pot against her back was hard but comfortable, and the still, humid air put her at her most patient. She breathed in the scent of green life, exhaled her hurry.

Something made her open her eyes. The lights in the garden had dimmed to a twilight that made her uncertain if she was awake or dreaming. The thick shadows in the stand of bamboo across from her grew with her every exhalation.

“Dantalion,” she whispered again.

Although she could feel the dark angel’s presence, he didn’t respond. Once again, the double bass thrummed distantly, discordantly. He watched her, waiting to see what she wanted without even the hint of friendliness he’d had before.

Piper cleared her throat. “I helped Raphael tend to her wounds.”

She’d hoped it might help, might provoke him to saying something. _Anything_. But the pulsing shadow didn’t change, and Dantalion remained waiting and silent. Had she misunderstood the source of his strong emotion?

“Dantalion, what’s wrong?”

His voice was a growl as he said, “Nothing.”

She gave the shadow a flat, disbelieving look, leaned forward and responded with her own silence.

After a moment, he said, “An inane question, in any case. What part of any of this is right?”

“And yet you’re different now,” Piper pointed out.

She could just see the lines of Dantalion’s silhouette in the deeper darkness. He looked away, toward the windows, as he said, “You know why.”

Piper exhaled. _Not wrong after all._ “Why do you keep your feelings a secret? I think she—”

His voice was the crack of ice as he cut her off. “We already watched her die once.”

The force behind his words knocked the breath out of Piper, which was when she was certain this was a dream, and a conversation that Dantalion did not wish to have where it could be overheard.

“What?” she said numbly. “Died?”

He shook his head. “I’m not reliving it for you today. One day you’ll understand. But you know now. She can _never_ be deployed in battle without a partner to watch her back.”

Hesitantly, Piper said what seemed obvious to her, given that this was Dantalion’s opinion. “You?”

An awful look twisted across his face. “Never me.”

After running the other active angels under review, she shook her head. “I don’t think she should fight at all, but if she has to, there’s… limited options right now.”

“If the Red Queen and Malachai and Ashmedai stopped treating this like a game—” he began, and then shook his head impatiently. “I know.If you care, look to Anahel. Give her your support. Meanwhile, I’m working on another angle.”

Piper thought about that for a moment before saying, “All right.” She had more questions—always more questions—but she suspected the answers she’d get from him would be… less than useful in his current state of mind.

He lingered a moment longer, studying her. Then, with a swirl of darkness, he vanished and she opened her eyes for real.

The brightening sky beyond the narrow windows gave her a sense of the time of day. Her sleep schedule had been well and truly disrupted since she arrived here, and her only comfort was that apparently this was true of everybody.

As dawn progressed, she spent more time wandering around the garden, occasionally snapping invasive climbers or trimming dead leaves, but thinking more and more about that other garden, within Wonderland. She’d planted a seed there, but where exactly was _there?_ More importantly, how did she get back? Willpower alone was not, apparently, enough. Nor was recalling the orchestra, or Dantalion’s door of light.

Possibly she’d need an angel’s direct escort again. Instinct told her Ashmedai would be the best guide, given their bond. But she wasn’t interested in Ashmedai’s brambles at the moment.

 _Look to Anahel,_ Dantalion had said. And Piper knew now how to find her. It seemed like a good plan anyhow to visit her to talk about the garden—and if she was busy, as a small voice pointed out she’d probably be, Piper could just be supportive. Find out if she’d had any coffeecake.

All right, she admitted to herself, she was restless in the shadow of the ongoing crisis. Cleaning the garden and putting it in order could only occupy her so long when everything else was in such disarray. Connecting with others was important in a disaster.

She retraced her steps until she once again came to the corridor where she’d noticed ‘Ark Administration’ on a pair of double doors, with Anahel’s name listed with several others on a small plate beside the door. Frosted glass windows showed the lights on, but nothing more.

When Piper cracked one of the doors open and peeked inside, she found a spacious, airy office with three desks and plenty of open space. A pale carpet was very clean but had noticeable wear paths, as if somebody was prone to pacing. Cheerful, colorful pictures of balloons decorated the walls. On the far side of the room, another heavy office door was just ajar.

Only one of the desks, the one nearest the other door, had an occupant: a lean , dark-haired man with his booted feet on the desk as he flipped through a magazine with a scantily clad cartoon woman on the cover. As Piper pulled the door open more and stepped inside, he looked at her over the pages. The sinister cast to his deeply set eyes and stark eyebrows brought all of Piper’s shyness to the forefront and she simply gazed at him worriedly for a moment.

“Well?” he said, and she recognized his voice as the ‘loudmouth’ from the briefing. _Tachi_ , somebody had named him. “You’re the new girl. What do you want?”

Her mouth dry, Piper said, “Anahel?”

“Hah!” said Tachi, and slapped his magazine down on the desk beside a stack of similar books. “You and me, sister.” Then, as Piper blinked, trying to parse this, he swung his feet down and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “ _Why_ do you want Anahel?”

For a moment, Piper had the curious idea that she was looking into a hellhound’s eyes. If she’d been brought to the Ark and immediately asked to pick out the nonhuman from the staff she’d met so far, Tachi would have been her first choice. The way he looked at her reminded her of the worst of the scientists who had studied her, except judging from the flicker of his eyes, Tachi was clearly aware she was female.

“Cat got your tongue?” He snickered in a way that was definitely laughing at her, not with her. “If you just came to gawk, go away.”

Words of dismissal, but he kept staring at her, like everybody had stared at her in the staff briefing. Her spine stiffened and she stepped forward into the room, letting the door close behind her.

“You’re Tachi, right?”

His smirk widened into a grin and suddenly he had a small knife in his hand as he leaned back again. “The man, the myth, the legend himself.” He began to twirl the blade between his fingers like most people might have twirled a pen.

Keeping a wary eye on the knife, Piper said, “What do you do here?”

“I change the lightbulbs.” The knife twisted over his fingers, glittering like a star. She could just hear the hiss and smack of the blade moving against his hand, over and over.

Dropping her gaze to the stack of comics, she asked, “Do they burn out a lot?”

“Daily. I’m swamped.” His teeth flashed but it wasn’t a smile.

Frowning, she took a metaphorical step back and tried to restart the conversation. “Um, I’m Piper Jones—”

“Yes, I know. The new girl. The one Malachai and Ashmedai are fighting over. The one all the flitterbys were talking about before they went nighty-night. Are you going to save us all, new girl?”

“Not me,” protested Piper, reacting instinctively. “I’m just a cog in the Red Queen’s plan.”

Abruptly the spinning knife stopped, the blade balanced on the back of Tachi’s hand. Then he flipped it and snatched it out of the air before making it vanish. As he put his feet back up on the desk again, he said, “You’ve got that right. We’re all tools to her, and if you’re smart, you won’t forget it.”

Piper’s gaze strayed to the heavy door beside his desk. “I won’t. So can I see Anahel?”

“That depends. You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

After mentally going through her vague agenda, she said, “I wanted to see how she was doing? She’s been very kind to me—”

Something sparked in Tachi’s dark eyes. Softly, he said, “Did you?” as if he could read her thoughts as well as the Red Queen.

Then, in his usual voice, he added, “She’s tired, overworked, anxious—”

From beyond the door came Anahel’s muffled voice. “Tachi, please just let her in.”

“—and in need of a break,” finished Tachi. He pointed at the heavy door with a totally different knife. “You may pass. Tell her I’ll be bringing her some vitamin gummies and a bedtime story soon.”


	22. 16: Anahel

“I heard that!” called Anahel. “I do not need—” She fell into what sounded like a fuming silence.

Piper walked past Tachi’s desk, following one of the worn paths in the carpet to the heavy door. It pushed open easily, and she stepped into a sunny office with a couch made up as a bed against one wall, and a curving desk in the corner. The entire far wall was a single window that let in the golden light of the dawn as it looked out into a blue sky.

Anahel sat at the desk, with a hologram of a mountain hovering at eye level. She waved it aside as Piper came in, and stood up, a smile lighting up her shadowed features. “Piper, welcome to my office. Did you really come just to check on me?”

Piper looked at the Administrator carefully. Her eyes were almost fever-bright and there was a worrying translucency to her skin. “I wanted to see if you got any coffeecake and maybe if you had time, talk a little.”

Anahel glanced down at her desk, where a half-eaten muffin sat on a pretty little plate. With a carelessness belied by the flush in her cheeks, she said, “Oh, Tachi brought me something. He said Raphael was bribing him to babysit me, and if I fell over he’d have to do real work.”

“You didn’t like it, though?”

“Oh, no, it’s delicious!” She picked it up and nibbled on a crumb. “I’ve just been working, and I explained how we really don’t need much food, didn’t I?”

Piper’s brow furrowed. She did remember that but she also remembered a repeated emphasis on Anahel getting enough rest during the crisis. Seeing how the fine bones of her face and her hands stood out as she moved made Piper want to bundle her into bed, too. But she’d probably had enough of that.

Instead Piper said, “Everybody’s worried about you, but I don’t even really know what your work is.” She glanced at the hologram of the mountain and raised her eyebrows invitingly.

Anahel’s laugh definitely sounded tired: the giggle of somebody who has to see the humor in certain things, or collapse. “Sit down, stay and talk.” She reseated herself as Piper took the guest chair, absently eating another crumb of muffin. “Normally, I manage the physical infrastructure of the Ark and Rainbow. This week, I’m keeping a Jabberwocky from sliding in, while stopping all sorts of sneaky incursions. It… takes a lot of energy.”

“And food and rest help restore that?” Piper pulled her legs up under her, nestling in the unexpectedly comfortable chair.

“I don’t _depend_ on them. And when I’m sprawled out snoring like a slug, nobody’s fixing all these little things.” She waved the mountain hologram closer and spun it, showing the perfect model of Rainbow’s mountain and the tiny Ark snugged up to its slope. Little spots of red pulsed. Anahel tapped one of them, and then furrowed her brow and moved her fingers like she was tying a knot one-handed. The red spot flared and then faded.

Piper leaned forward to get a better look.”What are they? More of those demons?”

With another little giggle, Anahel said, “Nothing so well organized. More like… insects, I think. Spies. Wandering eyes. They don’t _do_ anything, but they’re…” Anahel frowned. “They’re _colonizing_ and I don’t like it. What if they hurt somebody? I won’t let that happen.” She spun the mountain again, almost petulantly. “But what do you want to talk about? Not this, right?”

“Only because I didn’t know to ask,” Piper admitted, thinking about the vast gulfs in her knowledge. “I wanted to tell you about what I was doing in your tropical garden. And to ask you about Wonderland.”

Anahel bit her lip. “The garden…” she muttered, and then shook her head and focused on her mountain display. “Well, let’s hear it. I’ll at least have some perspective on the bad news right now.”

Piper looked at her for a long moment, watching as she returned to her work, and then told her about organizing the tools, complimenting her selection. After that, she pulled out a folded up notebook page upon which she’d sketched the watering can-fountain she planned to assemble and explained it, finishing with, “You really have everything we need to make something beautiful. Both the garden and the fountain. It just needs an outside eye to see past the clutter. You’ve done a lot of work, but it’s a big project.”

Ruefully, Anahel said, “You may be right, but I manage all this, Piper. A garden shouldn’t give me so much trouble! But nothing wants to grow for me.” Her brow darkened. “Except those darn climbers you were clipping.”

Piper decided diplomatically to shift the topic before Anahel could fall into brooding. “It’ll be fine, don’t you worry about it. Do you still have a few moments to talk to me about Wonderland?”

The dark look settled in on Anahel’s face. “Yes. Have you checked on Alice again?”

Shifting her weight, unfolding her legs, Piper confessed, “I don’t know how to get back. I only got there in the first place because Dantalion helped me, and he…” She faltered. “He doesn’t seem to be in the mood to help right now.”

Wryly, Anahel asked, “Do you still think he’s nice?”

Piper knew the question was teasing, but she couldn’t help but take it seriously. “He cares about…things,” She finished awkwardly, unwilling to casually betray more secrets.

Anahel’s mouth twisted, as if she’d been reminded of something unpleasant. “That he does. And some things much more than others. But this is about Wonderland. You really can’t get back?”

“I’ve done everything I can think of, which really mostly means ‘wishing hard.’” Piper ran her hands through her hair and then pulled the loose braid out. “What’s worked for other people?”

She asked the question without thinking, and knew immediately that it was a wrong question by the look Anahel directed at her. “We’ve only had one other person who qualified as a universal anchor and he… functioned very differently. Nobody else has ever connected like you did. That’s why… that’s why we were all so excited.” She frowned. “And you haven’t lost your connection. I can still feel you there. It’s distant, though, because of the Red Queen’s block. I wonder if that’s the problem?”

Piper leaned her head back against the cushioned top of the chair, looking up at the rounded light installations that spoke of an expensive interior designer for the so-called research facility. So much of this place didn’t make sense. “I don’t think so. I can feel you, too. Any of you, when I’m close enough.” She lifted her head to give Anahel an apologetic look. “Sometimes it feels like I’m spying, because I _know_ things.”

Anahel lowered her gaze to her desk, where she picked at the remains of the muffin. “What sorts of things?”

“I know you’re tired. I know why Dantalion’s upset. I know that Ash is… broken, and Malachai is…” She frowned, because she still didn’t know how Malachai really felt about anything. “I know when Malachai is lying. Most of the time.”

The angel’s thin face brightened. “That should be useful, at least.”

“I didn’t know he was lying about being human,” Piper pointed out. But it occurred to her that he hadn’t ever made such a claim—why would he when there was nothing else for him to be? And she’d known he was a liar instantly upon meeting him. “And his other lies seem so obvious. Just like everybody seems to know you’re tired, Anahel.”

Pulling her mouth to one side, Anahel stood up again, stretching. “We all know each other really well, though. You showed up a week ago. And I’m _not_ that tired. I’ve got reserves I haven’t even tapped yet.” She pivoted at the waist, in a little desk calisthenics routine, her twin ponytails bobbing.

“Why not?” asked Piper, bluntly.

“Because I don’t need to,” said Anahel firmly. “And don’t you tell me I do. You don’t—” She stopped, something kindling in her eyes as she looked down at Piper. “You don’t know. Piper, have you tried to get Ashmedai’s help in getting you into Wonderland again? It’d be the best way.”

It was Piper’s turn to look down, twisting her hair band around her fingers and then untwisting it. “I’d rather not. He’s beautiful, and he… I think something must have hurt him a lot to make him like he is. And if I can help him, I will. But I don’t think I want _his_ help. He _drags_ me places, and he doesn’t care if I get hurt along the way.”

Anahel looked excited rather than disappointed, her eyes dilating and prismatic sparkles flickering around her. She bent forward, blond hair swinging over her shoulder, and held out her hand to Piper. “I understand! Why don’t you bond with _me_ and I’ll help you instead?”

Piper stared at her, bewildered and suddenly feeling very small and mundane in the face of Anahel’s unexpected, sparkling glory. “I thought you didn’t need an Anchor? You and Malachai and Dantalion and Raphael? That’s why you didn’t collapse like the others, right?”

“We don’t,” said Anahel, breathlessly. “But we’re still connected to Alice. We don’t _need_ an Anchor, but we can still create a bond.” She frowned. “At least, we should be able to. We all had one with Phil too, even Mal—” She cut herself off, shaking her head. “I think it will work.”

“But what would it do?” asked Piper, closing the hand with her void augment into a fist reflexively.

“Oh, you could give us a power boost if needed. Hey, you could even give me one, and it would help offset the tired!” Anahel beamed, her wide eyes shining. “And I wouldn’t be hindered by the Red Queen’s block when it came to speaking to you via Wonderland. And, oh… I just think it’d be so _nice_.”

Piper blinked up at her, completely dazzled by the angel’s joyful glow. Even the memory of the pain Ashmedai had inflicted couldn’t stop her from unconsciously lifting her hand toward Anahel’s.

A sardonic voice from the entrance stopped her. “I can’t say I don’t ship it, but let’s be serious for a moment here.”

Tachi leaned on the door frame, his arms crossed, inspecting Piper with that hellhound gaze that made her feel like she had too much in common with a side of beef. Fully seen, he was even taller than she’d thought, and gave the indistinct impression of being awkwardly put together. His shoulders were disproportionately wide, and his elbows seemed too pointed.

Anahel puffed out her cheeks before saying crossly, “Nobody asked you, Tachi.”

“Wrong!” he countered. “Raphael’s going to be _very grateful_ if I can keep your ass from collapsing.”

“This will _help_ ,” insisted Anahel. “Piper can give me a boost from the void augment.” She stared fiercely at Tachi, which released Piper from the oddly compelling power of her enthusiasm. It let her realize that something was off under the surface with Anahel. Some… drive had awoken. Piper had felt it before, but she couldn’t remember when. The context mattered, but it eluded her.

Then Tachi prowled into the room and circled Piper in her chair, inspecting her. “I don’t know. She’s… pretty small.”

“Oh, like that matters! Even if it did, Leony’s the _same size._ ”

“Leony can shoot lasers from her eyes. I know what _she’s_ capable of.”

 _Leony. Must be one of the other Anchors—_ “Wait, _really_? Lasers?” Piper furrowed her brow at Tachi, who was as invisible as Rain to her new sense.

Tachi smirked. “Oh yeah. All of our other Anchors are damned effective Warp users. What do _you_ have, new girl?”

“She’s—“began Anahel hotly, but Tachi reached over Piper’s head to put a finger against her lips.

“Shush. Let her speak for herself. Well, new girl? Anahel’s got a lot on her plate. She can’t afford any more projects. If you’re just going to whine and cry and distract her, well…” His smirk widened. “Let’s just say visiting hours are over.”

Piper’s bewilderment at the sudden turn of the conversation bubbled over into indignation and then annoyance. For a moment, the habits of a lifetime made her suppress it. _Annoyance_ never got her anywhere with the scientists who had studied her. Patience and endurance had always been the best path.

Then she thought, _why?_ This man wasn’t a scientist studying her. He was… He was _obnoxious_ , that was what he was! She didn’t have to answer to him. This was between her and Anahel. (Anahel, who stood still and quiet, her cheeks flushed as she stared angrily at Tachi.)

Her jaw hardening, she reached for Anahel’s hand, loose at the angel’s side. But Tachi, quicker than her, grabbed first that wrist and then her other wrist as she twisted to use her other hand. He held both her arms over her head, cocking his head as he looked down at her. But at least his smirk had faded.

“ _Tachi,”_ cried Anahel, shocked. “You can’t just manhandle— Let her go this instant!”

Thoughtfully, Tachi said, “In a minute. I mean, if she really is nothing but a sponge, maybe she _should_ take Alice’s place.”

Piper scowled up at him. He’d turned his question into a test. But things were clicking together in her mind. Little tidbits of memories, assembling themselves into information.

_“You have a perfectly weaponized Warp,” said the Red Queen._

And she knew: if she needed somebody tricked, there was Malachai. If she needed somebody to die? Ashmedai. If she needed somebody to live? Raphael. To be safe? Anahel. And if she needed somebody _right now_ …

 _“Dantalion,”_ Piper spoke forcefully both aloud and in her mind, reaching out—

The light in the room dimmed abruptly, like a storm had passed before the sun. Shadows flickered like fire in the corners of the room and then Dantalion was there, his long coat swirling around him and his golden eyes blazing. His voice rasped as he said, “What _now_?”

Then he raised his eyes from Piper to Tachi, who still held her wrists over her head.

Piper explained, “He wanted to see what I could do with my Warp.”

“Hmm,” said Dantalion, his gaze still on Tachi. “You know, if I broke every bone in your body, I’d have the pleasure of delivering you to Raphael for repairs.”

“Hah!” said Tachi, releasing Piper without seeming the least intimidated. “You work for her now?”

“Imbecile,” said Dantalion, and vanished again.

As the shadowfire fled and the room brightened again, Anahel said, this time as if it was something that pleased her, “Piper thinks he’s _nice_.”

“Yeah, you’ve said,” observed Tachi, stepping back from Piper and giving her a crooked smile that was a shade friendlier than his smirk. “Didn’t think _he_ cared about shit like that though.” He cocked his head, assessing her. “Nah, I don’t see it. Ash is crazy and Mal’s playing some game, but Dantalion isn’t either of those. It might actually be her Warp.”

Piper gave into the childish desire to make a face at him, sticking her tongue out. “You’re a bully.”

He laughed outright in response. “And you’ve got a little fire, at least. Are you going to give Anahel one of your boosts?”

Piper looked down at her hand. The design had changed color in one section after she’d allowed Ashmedai to draw his sword, the purple becoming a dull gray. The thought of being able to help in a concrete way was exciting.

“If I can.”

Tachi raised his gaze to Anahel, giving her the exact same scrutiny he’d given Piper before. “All right. I’ll sign off on this little date, but Raphael says you have to get three hours of sleep within the next six.”

“This won’t take that long,” said Anahel grouchily. “Maybe half an hour. I have too much work to do for anything else.”

That smirk as Tachi said, “A quickie, huh? Well, I’ll leave you girls to get on with making out.” He turned and waved even as he spoke, a lazy flap of the hand as he walked out.

Piper stared after him in new bewilderment. “Why does he talk like that?”

Hastily, Anahel said, “Tachi means well. He just… likes to view everything through certain filters. But he did bring me a muffin!” Once again she held out her hand to Piper and then looked distracted.

“Oh, but did he make you uncomfortable?” Her voice became agitated. “I suppose he did. I’m so sorry. Should I make him come apologize? I can do that—” She looked to the door.

“No! No, don’t worry about it. It was too… weird to be uncomfortable.” Piper stood up and held out her hand. “I still don’t know how to do this—”

Anahel turned to her with her lovely smile. “Oh, that’s all right.” She laced her fingers through Piper’s and pressed their palms together. Her hand was cool and dry, and much softer than Piper’s. “I’ll do all the work.”

She closed her eyes. Once again, the world swept away from Piper, this time filling with Anahel: a psychic embrace as soft as feathers, with spikes of naked bone underneath. Locks in her mind opened, and circuits aligned.

As the overwhelming experience of forming the bond faded, she could evaluate it. She wasn’t as… synchronized with Anahel as she was with Ashmedai, she could tell that immediately. It would reduce the efficiency of the void augment transfer. But if Anahel requested power, she could provide it.

But instead Anahel said eagerly, “And now Wonderland. Oh, maybe we should sit down.” Their hands still clasped, Anahel tugged Piper over to the couch covered in bedding. Once they’d safely seated themselves, Anahel leaned back against the couch like she’d done this a lot. “I’m going to pull you in, if that’s all right?”

“Of course,” said Piper, but nervously, thinking about Ashmedai dragging her around.

Anahel didn’t notice, closing her eyes. That sense of feathery wings closed around Piper again, and the spikes of bone underneath pricked a little more. Then darkness closed over her, stifling, like she’d been entombed alive. But before she could begin to panic, it ended and she opened her eyes in her garden in Wonderland.

Anahel stood beside her, still holding her hand. A gorgeous pair of mother-of-pearl wings had appeared at her shoulders, but her skin was even more translucent. Around them rose the distant sounds of a tuning orchestra.

“Oh, it worked. How pretty!” said Anahel as she released Piper’s hand, and brittle bells rang under her voice. She looked around at the square of clipped green and the fountain in the center.

Piper gave Anahel a dubious glance. “Not yet. It’s just a canvas right now. But it _will be_ pretty.” She scanned the garden herself until she spotted the place she’d planted the acorn, and hurried over to it.

The acorn had turned into a sapling that came up to her knee. As Piper knelt and inspected its growth with satisfaction, Anahel joined her. “What’s this?”

“An oak tree,” said Piper happily. “When it’s big enough, I’ll be able to climb it and see everything. Including Alice’s maze.” She petted the sapling gently, checking for any problems.

A breeze lifted her hair and she raised her head to see Anahel gently waving her wings. The angel asked uncertainly, “Will that help?”

Piper bit her lip, looking at Anahel’s wings and suddenly doubting her own idea. If getting a bird’s eye view of Alice’s labyrinth would help, surely Anahel or Raphael would have done it. “I thought it might, but it seems silly now. I mean, you all have wings.”

“That didn’t matter before,” said Anahel thoughtfully. “I was locked in. But now…” She flexed her wings as a gleam came into her eyes. “We could try to save Alice now!”

Piper had a bad feeling about this idea, especially given the flaws in the bells under Anahel’s voice. Suddenly Tachi’s lecture about not burdening Anahel with another responsibility didn’t seem quite so random. “I don’t— I don’t think it’s something we should rush into? I don’t know anything about that labyrinth. That’s why I planted the tree.” She looked around and found a second stream had joined Ashmedai’s, flowing through a cracked marble channel that had dark soil swirling into the water from under the fractured stone.

She stood up and moved to collect water from the channel. As she did, Anahel said distantly, “I suppose you’re right. Oh!”

Piper looked up, not-water dripping from her hands. “It’s for the tree. I’m not… this doesn’t hurt you, does it?”

“It’s your fountain, Piper! I was just… startled that I could feel it.” Anahel sat on the grass, and the tunic of her outfit grew into a slightly ragged skirt that pooled around her. She snapped her fingers. “Here, have a watering can.”

A facsimile of one from her garden appeared in her hand and she held it out. It looked almost exactly the same: a thin arching stem, a twisted handle. It had some spots of rust the original lacked, though, and a crack through a handle that remained just functional.

Piper took it, wondering what had caused the degradation, and then snapped her own fingers hopefully. A trowel did not appear. “Oh well, I suppose it takes practice.”

“That’s the spirit,” said Anahel absently. She sat, twisting strands of grass together as Piper watered the sapling. “How long do you think this will take to grow?”

Piper guessed almost randomly. “A month, maybe? But I know so little, anything could change at—”

“A month!” Anahel burst out. “But Alice must be so frightened…” She trailed off, looking down at her lap.

A lump appeared at the back of Piper’s throat. She’d been trying hard not to imagine the traumatized little girl that had built the labyrinth around herself. She just knew so little about Alice, Wonderland and the whole situation. It was uselessly upsetting to speculate.

She cleared her throat. “Maybe so. Maybe there’s a faster way. I don’t think I can rescue her alone no matter what. She doesn’t know me.”

“Hmm,” said Anahel, pulling her knees up. “I have to keep Jabberwocky out for now, but…” She trailed off, staring down at her hands. As if talking to herself, she eventually said, “If Sammael really does follow you into Jabberwocky, that would make it safer…”

“What?” said Piper, uncertain she heard correctly. “Sammael following me to Jabberwocky?”

Anahel jerked her head up, her eyes dark. “Oh, no—I didn’t mean to say that! We don’t really know, it’s just that Malachai thinks—” The angel then covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes wide.

The air of Wonderland felt heavy as Piper dragged it into her lungs. Was it a dream? A metaphor? She didn’t know. She didn’t _care_. “What does Malachai think, Anahel?”

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” whispered Anahel from behind her hands. “He didn’t want you to know.”

Piper closed her eyes. “ _Please_ tell me. Otherwise I’ll have to ask him and as he so recently pointed out, I may be able to tell when he lies but I can’t make him be honest.” Even as anger bubbled within her, the quiet survivor in her tried to do damage control. She’d never trusted him; she’d always known what he was; how could—

“He says Sammael is after you,” said Anahel, still whispering, still horrified by her lapse. “And that there was no point in telling you because it’d only upset you.”

 _How could she be so hurt by this_? But what she said was, “How does he know?”

Anahel’s voice was now breathy but a bit louder. “He… he watched how Sammael reacted when he saved you from Ashmedai on the mountainside.” Her brow furrowed as she stared at Piper. “You didn’t know _that_ , either? But he likes to brag…”

Piper curled her fingers into the grass. Mostly speaking to herself, she said, “I’m new here. I know that, even without Tachi pointing it out. I _know._ There’s stuff I’m not cleared for. I know that too.”

“I’ve answered every question you’ve asked,” said Anahel defensively, wrapping her arms around herself.

Piper saw Anahel’s distress and tried to soften herself in response. “I know. Thank you. I just…” She tilted her head up to the sky. “I don’t understand him. I don’t understand why he doesn’t tell me things about me.”

The things she’d just learned floated around in her head: discrete pieces of information unintegrated into the rest of her mind. They would send her into Jabberwocky, presumably with Twelve. And Sammael _Sammael_ had reappeared because of her? It wasn’t as unbelievable as perhaps it should have been. She was nobody—but in her every godstorm nightmare, he’d been coming for her. Now it was reality, but at least she was with people who thought they could fight him. She’d even seen Ashmedai do it, though she never wanted to repeat that experience. It mattered _more_ , somehow, that Malachai had known and not told her.

And… a small thing, so very small: Malachai had been how she’d survived Ashmedai? Had been the reason Ashmedai had fallen? A _very_ small thing that suddenly made her look at a number of past interactions in a new light.

Shaking her head, Piper rolled to her feet. “Thank you for bringing me here, Anahel. And I’m glad we’ve formed that bond. You feel a lot safer than Ashmedai. But I… I have to get out of here now. Is there a gym or something somewhere?”

Flustered, Anahel stood up, her ragged dress shrinking back into her tunic and trousers again. “Oh, yes, I can direct you—” She reached out and took Piper’s hand. “May I have the boost still?”

Piper felt the _draw_ , the request, and almost absent-mindedly flicked her hand to release it. She saw the energy, a sizzle of purple light, zip into Anahel. Briefly, Anahel’s eyes glowed the same shade, and her sparkles became sparks.

“Whoo,” she breathed out. “All right. I’m going to pull you out the same way. It might be bumpy because of...”

The world shattered around Piper, and she was once again entombed. This time, already distressed, she had plenty of time to panic. She struggled to move her arms and legs, and kicked herself awake on the couch.

Panting, she sat up. Anahel stood before her, still somehow sizzling with Piper’s magical boost. Beyond her was the holographic model of the mountain, spinning gently and dotted with many more blooms of red. “That worked! Um, are you still angry?”

Piper noticed the blooms on the model, noticed the jittery edge to Anahel’s movements, and promptly forgot them both in the face of Anahel’s question. She flexed her fingers and said automatically, “I’m _not_ angry.” Then she paused. “I _am_ angry, but I don’t know why. I don’t know why I thought I was special. I have known what he was since I first laid eyes on him and I’ve even _laughed_ about it, so why…” She shook her head. “I just want to think. And maybe to hit something.”

Anahel drew a diagram on a piece of paper with a clean, elegant hand. “Here. This will take you to the gym. There’s a punching bag. Um, I’d ask Tachi to guide you but… maybe not a good idea if you already want to hit things?”

“Not unless he volunteers,” said Piper, dredging up a smile. “Thank you.”

“Piper—I’m sorry.” Anahel twisted her hands together nervously.

“For what? You didn’t do anything wrong, Anahel.” She had a happy thought. “And if Malachai gives you a hard time, I will _murder_ him and together we’ll grow beautiful flowers from his corpse.”

Anahel’s horrified giggle in response made Piper feel just cheerful enough to wave as she headed out, directions in hand.


	23. 17.1: The Impatient Ones

“Wake up, my teacher,” said a deep voice, and something feather-light brushed Piper’s nose. She struggled against the molasses of deep sleep, the previous ‘day’ tumbling disordered through her groggy mind. She’d visited Anahel, gone to the gym, eaten a meal with Rain, helped build a chassis for a power generator, watched from the shelter of the door while Ashmedai and Malachai had dealt with another round of exploding, gate-making attackers.

There’d been more this time, and they’d spread out over the mountain. Malachai had smiled at her as he’d dealt with the ones nearest, but she hadn’t been able to smile back. Something savage had flickered in his dark eyes, but he’d only smiled more as he turned away.

Another meal with Rain—her lunch, Piper’s dinner, both mid-afternoon, and then Piper had staggered to her bed.

The feathery touch moved to her cheekbone and then tugged on her ear. As consciousness cleared her thoughts, Piper wistfully thought of the one morning here—her first—when she’d been allowed to wake up alone in her own room, with whole hours to kill before she needed to do something.

She opened her eyes. Ashmedai looked down at her, his fingers curled against her hair. She shook her head irritably and he straightened up. “Her Majesty directed me to wake you. We have a slight problem.”

Piper blinked at him, trying to understand the severity of the situation before stumbling out of bed. The unholy light of amusement glimmered in the back of Ashmedai’s eyes, which didn’t actually tell her much given that he seemed to enjoy himself the most when killing things.

Swallowing against a dry throat, Piper managed to say, “What time is it?” She’d gone to sleep mid-afternoon, utterly exhausted by the tension and activity of the day.

“It’s 7:13 PM,” said Ashmedai with a flash of his teeth. “A short sleep for humans, but our need is urgent. You sleep very deeply, did you know that?”

Piper scowled. “At least Rain brought me coffee.”

She felt the surge of tangled emotion in Ashmedai in response, but all he said was, “Did she? I’ll remember that. Are you sufficiently awake?”

“I’m fine. Or I will be. What’s so urgent? Another attack?”

He tilted his head and something seemed to glow in the back of his eyes. “Did you know Jabberwocky’s hallucinogen affects angels as well? It takes much more contact, of course.”

A shiver passed through Piper and she dropped her eyes as she swung herself out of bed. “I wondered. You were…” She stopped, uncomfortable. “I thought the Red Queen was implementing filters.”

“She is, although they are imperfect. Don’t worry,” said Ashmedai, putting his hand on top of her head. “This isn’t about me. And no need to rise, either. I’ve been instructed to take you to Wonderland.”

“What? Why?” She stood up anyhow, and stretched, shifting her weight to restore circulation to her legs. He stepped back, watching her.

“Anahel has been focused on Wonderland for an unusual amount of time. Raphael is… concerned, especially given her exposure to known mind-altering substances. And when Raphael is concerned, we’re all concerned.” He spread his hands as if to indicate the world.

A prickle of dread ran down Piper’s spine. Shaking her head, she moved past him to her bathroom, and then returned to sit on her couch with a glass of water, her legs crossed. “What am I to do?”

The Red Queen spoke from the ceiling. “Whatever you can. I hope—” She cut herself off, as if the admission was a mistake. “This is important.”

Piper’s gut clenched. She remembered her worries as she worked in the garden, and the cracks she’d sensed underneath. Everybody had been so casual about their situation. But when she’d been working with some of the other human staff on assembling the generator chassis, she’d been able to hear the tension in the pauses in the desultory conversation. It was like a godstorm on the radar, and the shelters were all full.

“Did Anahel at least get some sleep?”

“Raphael believes not. She focused on Wonderland instead,” said Ashmedai. He sat down on the couch beside her and held out his hand, just as he had when he’d asked her to bond with him. “Come.” His mouth twisted wryly. ”I’ll try to be gentle.”

Her hands clenched into fists in her lap, reminded that these people talked about her to each other. Then, looking around, she found her hat on the table, and stood to fetch it. After putting it firmly on her head, she returned to her seat and put her hand in Ashmedai’s.

“I’m ready.”

Moonshadow wings closed around her, cool and edged with razors. Lines of light caged her mind as a vast open darkness unfurled. Then, with the snap of wings, she found herself once again in her green garden. Ashmedai stood beside her, his shadowy wings out and his moon-halo a faint hologram around his head.

Piper glanced around. She could immediately tell something was wrong. The angelic orchestra was no longer slow and sleepy, but excited and off-kilter. The clear sky felt hollowed out, as if it was the glittering blue ceiling of a cavern. And her oak sapling was a withered stick, its leaves dried curls on the emerald turf.

She dashed over to it, kneeling down to inspect it. The thin bark had split and a still-green leaf crumbled to dust in her fingers. It reminded her of a garden neglected in the worst of heat waves. Yet the turf around the sapling remained healthy and verdant.

Ashmedai followed her over, his hand out and a cherry-red flame dancing in his palm. “She’s looking at a dead stick,” he told the flame.

Piper imagined a worried Anahel, hovering over the oak tree, trying to encourage it along. Trying to speed growth or time somehow, the same way she’d conjured a watering can. She could _feel_ the echoes in her heart of Anahel’s horror as the leaves had fallen from the sapling. Horror and self-hatred and desperation.

“Is this _relevant_?” said the Red Queen via the flame, like a woman holding onto her patience by her teeth.

“Anahel wanted to help,” said Piper, standing up. With an effort, she wrenched her mind’s eye away from Anahel’s trauma, closing her heart and focusing on the Red Queen’s impatience. “Your Majesty, what’s going on? Are we under attack right now?”

It was Ashmedai who answered her, his gaze boring into hers. “Not by demons. But there’s this. And Alice is… agitated. And the Jabberwocky gate-explosions are tearing up the matrix underlying Rainbow.”

Piper struggled to understand, staring down at her dead sapling. “And we need Anahel to fix that?”

He shook his head. “Raphael believes that’s hurting Anahel too. Her connection to Rainbow is… fundamental. They can’t exist apart.”

“Within Rainbow, Anahel is the most powerful and the most precious part of the Ark,” said the Red Queen flatly. “We must preserve her at all costs. I would prefer to preserve her conscious and active, which is where you come in. Please find her and convince her to extract herself, as soon as possible.”

For a long moment, Piper gnawed on her lip. Then, slowly, she moved over to Anahel’s cracked marble channel and followed it into the shady confines of the hedge alley. Like Ashmedai’s, it came eventually to a fork. She looked down the short branch, to the bower of crystal and hanging moss that represented Anahel’s place in Wonderland. But after only a brief pause, she continued on to Alice’s garden, because she already knew where Anahel was. Ashmedai trailed silently behind her, bearing the Red Queen’s flame.

Once again, the great labyrinth spread before her, but this time bells rang deep within: irregular, jumbling with emotion but not music. Piper stopped, setting her jaw. “She’s with Alice. She… she flew over the labyrinth.” A breeze came at her back and she turned her head enough to see Ashmedai’s wings moving. “Don’t! That’s… that’s not going to work. The labyrinth is there for a reason.”

Ashmedai tilted his head again, but his wings stilled and he said nothing. Grateful for the silence, Piper moved to the entrance to the labyrinth and stared at it hard, biting her thumb. “Nobody else can reach Anahel? Dantalion? Malachai?”

“If I can’t fly in, Dantalion will certainly fare worse,” said Ashmedai.

“His ability to convince people peacefully is limited, in any case,” added the Red Queen. “Malachai… could take a certain action, but it’s a cure likely to be worse than the disease.”

Her teeth scraped across her thumb’s knuckle. “What about Twelve? Can we talk to him?”

After a pause, the Red Queen said slowly, “Not easily. Disrupting the incarnation process can be dangerously traumatic.”

The clenching in Piper’s gut crawled to her spine. She could feel the shape of disaster pressing against her, hauling up the past in the nets of nightmare. The mazes of her childhood had rarely been so literal, but they’d been mazes all the same: a hundred tests to find her Warp, and she’d failed every one of them.

“Piper?” asked Ashmedai softly, and she jerked herself back from the drowning depths of memory. The clamor of the angelic orchestra had become strident.

“Anahel wanted to help Alice.” She took a step toward the labyrinth’s entrance, still chewing on her thumb. When she tasted blood, she shook her head. “I’ll try to find her.”

With that, she darted into the hedge, running so she couldn’t stop as easily. At the first turning, she turned, and then at the next, and the next: no strategy except losing herself within. The green walls of the labyrinth were far taller than the alleys of the garden, and the paths much wider, with worn paving stones barely visible beneath moss. A sharp, bitter smell wafted from the hedges along with the faintly astringent scent of the leaves.

As she slowed to catch her breath, Ashmedai said behind her, “Impulsive Piper.”

She yelped and spun around. He stood behind her, still holding the flame.

“You followed me?”

Raising his eyebrows, he said, “Did you expect me to wait quietly outside?”

Piper rubbed her knuckles against her forehead. “I don’t know. I—”

From far too close, something roared, a long cry that started as a growl and rose to a wail. It seemed to be right on the other side of the hedge. Piper stepped backward, reaching out to clutch at Ashmedai’s arm.

He smiled. “Alice’s labyrinth has monsters. How delightful.”

“Ashmedai,” snapped the Red Queen. “This is not a game.”

With a shrug, his muscles flexing under Piper’s hand, he said easily, “You made me, Your Majesty.”

“How much time do we have?” asked Piper nervously.

After a pause, the Red Queen said, “Very little. Raphael’s anxiety is increasing. Dammit! Why can’t that Jabberwocky attack at _useful_ times?”

Piper goggled at the cherry flame. “ _That_ would be useful?”

The Red Queen didn’t answer, but Ashmedai, strolling along and pulling Piper with him, said, “It would distract Raphael, buying you more time. But let’s see what we can accomplish in what we have.” His teeth flashed. “I’d love to see the beasts of Alice’s nightmares.”

Piper nodded grimly and sped up, releasing Ashmedai and trotting ahead of him, listening hard for the sounds of anything else moving. After a moment, though, she said, “I don’t understand how decisions get made. Isn’t Sajan the Director?”

“Sajan is invaluable at providing vision for our general direction,” said the Red Queen. “In some situations, Raphael even listens to him. This is not that situation. Please hurry.”

And Piper did. Lacking any other strategy, she turned when it felt right, and went straight when it didn’t. She had a connection to Anahel. But if it guided her, it ignored the layout of the labyrinth to do so. They heard roars twice more, but neither were as close as the first. She was just thinking that it was the very essence of a labyrinth that they’d only moved further away from the creature when she turned a corner and almost walked into a monster’s jaws.

It had teeth as long as her hand, displayed in a wide jaw, and fur spotted like a snow leopard; a big red tongue and a flat snout; claws that flashed and a muscled body that seemed more like a bulldog than a cat. And oh, so _many_ teeth! It was almost as tall as her, as long as a horse and the tail lashed like a whip. It closed its jaws as she jerked back, but the terrible breath, bitter and foul, followed her.

She fell back on her rear, catching herself with her hands and rolling desperately to her feet. Ashmedai’s laugh echoed in her ears as he faced the beast, lowering his head. As she staggered to catch her balance, the angel’s hand came up. Silently, one of the beams of light he used in place of his sword burst from his palm and sheared the cat-like monster in two. The creature hadn’t even had time to recover from its own surprise. A mess sprayed everywhere—not of blood and viscera, but something dark and speckled with stars.

The clap of collapsing corpse. And then—

The strident orchestra exploded into raw noise. Ashmedai swayed, his brow furrowing.

“And we’re done. This mission is a failure,” said the Red Queen harshly. “Get her out of Wonderland, Ash, and we’ll regroup.”

Piper, staring in horror at the black goo that seemed to be eating its way through her clothes, barely understood what the Red Queen had said until Ashmedai, significantly more filth-stained than her, grabbed her hand.

Once again, moonshadow wings closed around her. The sensation of her own weight grew and grew, until she realized she was sitting on her couch, holding Ashmedai’s hand.

She opened her eyes, immediately looking at where the monster’s internal goo had stained her. Her unmarred clothing didn’t quite reassure her, but seeing Ashmedai staring at her with a furrowed brow, as clean as she was, helped.

“I killed the monster and Alice got _upset_ ,” he complained. “I don’t understand.”

Piper pressed her palms against her eyes, rubbing them as the Red Queen said, “More upset. You made her _more_ upset. Raphael has taken action, however, and now we must plan to go on in the wake of that.”

“What did she do?” Piper asked. The light in the room seemed dim after the brightness of Wonderland.

“Using her own particular gifts, she’s placed Anahel in amedical coma, a remedy I’ve been trying to talk her out of for two hours. However, given what you found—and what you triggered—it’s perhaps the best solution. It removes her from agitating Alice, and keeps her from hurting herself further.”

Piper blinked. “It was that easy to separate them? Why—”

“Because Anahel is now out of action for at least the next three days, according to Raphael, who must maintain her. She believes that Ana and Alice were entrapped by a damaging psychic feedback loop. I haven’t been able to produce evidence to the contrary and Anahel obviously hasn’t been advocating for herself.”

“Three days,” whispered Piper, horrified.

“And, although I hate to admit it, quite possibly this is another of our enemy’s _imaginative_ attacks,” continued the Red Queen with a venomous edge. “Yes, three days, Miss Jones. If all falls to ruin, Raphael will wake her before that, but I’d rather not reach that stage. Please stand by while I adjust my plan.”

Silence fell. Piper caught the faint scent of old coffee and wished, distantly, it was fresh and here. When she glanced sidelong at Ashmedai, she found he still looked annoyed. Tentatively she offered, “Next time we’ll have to find something else to do with the monster.”

“Why does she even have monsters if she doesn’t want them slain?” His fingers drummed on the arm of the couch.

“Don’t ask me. I don’t even know why Sammael’s presence upset her so much,” Piper pointed out.

“Neither do I,” said the angel, nettled. “She’s a sweet child, but—” He stopped, his mouth becoming a thin line.

Silence fell again, and once more, Piper broke it. “Do you know why Raphael put Anahel under for three days?”

Ashmedai sprang to his feet and paced over to the big screen on the wall before turning around. “I suppose her treatment will take that long. Our bodies heal fast, especially when she helps. Our void gates can take longer.“

“Oh! That’s how Dantalion was injured, too, right?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “Raphael isn’t unreasonable, despite how she may appear. She allowed me to return to service earlier than she preferred, and she’ll probably clear Dantalion early as well.”

“Not soon enough,” said the Red Queen. “I need to run some simulations. I’ll update you in an hour.”

“Is Jabberwocky going to push its way in again?” asked Piper hurriedly, before the Red Queen tuned out entirely.

“Probably,” said the Red Queen, clipping her words. “Anahel has some autonomous functionality as the keeper of Rainbow. There is still a barrier. But it’s no longer dynamic, and if Jabberwocky tries to invade that way again, repulsing it may be a challenge. But while I’m including that in my projections, I have reason to believe Jabberwocky’s Rex has a new game afoot. Now please be patient while I work.”

Stung by somebody else telling _her_ to be patient, Piper watched Ashmedai pace around her room like a caged tiger, her fingers laced together in her lap.

“Have you seen Rain’s room?” he asked abruptly, circling the couch for the fourth time.

“This morning. I woke her for lunch.” Rain had the kind of room Piper had expected to find in an ‘offshore research station’: something slightly larger than a closet, with just enough room to stand and dress between a bunk bed, a bedside table, and storage. Even Rain didn’t have to share her bunk bed, though. “There’s no room to pace in there.”

He stopped, turning to look down at her, his eyes glinting. “Am I bothering you?”

Piper unfolded her hands. “This is a stressful situation. Carry on, if it helps.”

“That’s not an answer.” When Piper only shrugged, his mouth twisted bitterly. “You don’t care if I’m here or not, do you?”

Choosing her words carefully, tasting his suppressed anger and not understanding it, Piper said, “I think you should do whatever helps you relax. If pacing here helps you, do that. If you’d rather be someplace else, I’ll be fine by myself.”

He stared at her for a long moment, and she met his gaze gravely (even as a small part of her mind shouted, _You see how patient I am, Red Queen?)_.

“I think I will,” he said finally, and moved to the door. His hand on the handle, he said, with each word dipped in liquid nitrogen, “If I see Malachai, shall I send him your way?”

Piper’s attempt at calm patience shattered. “No! Don’t you dare.”

Once again she felt the pulse of rage, and, yes, jealousy that surged through him. But his only response was to, very quietly, open the door and shut it behind him after he left.

Pulling her knees up and hugging a couch cushion, Piper let out a long breath as the solitude settled around her. She hadn’t perhaps been as supportive as she could have been to her partner in demon murder. But she didn’t understand why he was angry or, for that matter, why her _refusal_ to see Malachai had triggered jealousy.

And yet she’d done her best. She’d done nothing but her best, this whole time.

Hadn’t she?

She remembered Wonderland, and racing into Alice’s labyrinth, certain as she did so that she’d fail, _throwing_ herself bodily into failing, because it was easier than saying no.

Irritated, she threw down the pillow and took up Ashmedai’s pacing. After two passes across the room, she noticed that the handle on the exit had been deformed, squeezed like clay between strong fingers. She stared down at it blankly. Ashmedai really had been upset. And yet she didn’t know why. She _hadn’t_ wanted to see Malachai.

Seeing him outside in the most recent defense had been much too much. She’d made a serious effort not to notice him when she’d eaten with Rain, even though he’d been nearby, talking to Ashmedai. And if a small part of her felt a vicious glee in not telling him how she felt—well, she was only human.

Besides, she had no intention of telling him how she felt until she understood _why_ she felt that way. That morning all she’d managed to do was work herself until muscle exhaustion had taken over her mind. She remained angry at him still.

Not just him, but _herself_. She’d been angry at herself each time he’d hurt her. Because she’d let herself be hurt. She’d cared about him. Wanted to matter to him. As herself, not as some tool, some experiment, some means to an end. But each time she’d been hurt by his lies and secrecy, it was because she’d wanted… too much.

The shadows darkened in the room as Piper turned on her heel, stalking across the room, back and forth, over and over. An hour passed, but she scarcely noticed, chewing occasionally on her thumb again until the taste of blood reminded her to stop.

She had a little voice within her, she found. A little voice that said, _It’s easier not to care too much._ _Not to try._ _Not to dream impossible dreams._

Piper had known she’d fail to find Anahel from the start, as soon as she’d realized where the angel had gone. She’d tried anyway, knowing she would fail, and in knowing she’d fail, she didn’t try at all. Why dream impossible dreams?

It’s not like they were warranted. Once upon a time, she’d really tried her best, over and over, and what had ever come of that?

She remembered a time when she’d thrown her whole heart into things. When she’d tried and failed and tried again (and it had hurt so, so much, each time) to not be what she was. The control. The zero. The _other one_.

Voices spoke in her memory.

_Oh… yes. Her._

_She’s just one sample. It doesn’t matter._

_The scale has to start at zero, after all._

She’d wanted so much to believe her grandmother’s death hadn’t been utterly meaningless. That there’d been a _why_.

Remembering that now made her sick.

Realizing what _trying her best_ had become for her made her _furious._

 _You really couldn’t have done anything_ , said the little voice from within. _Believing you could solve the labyrinth wouldn’t have changed a thing._

And that too was correct. But it didn’t help her distress at all.

The little voice, which really was her, said _I can go to the gardens. I matter there, even if all I can do is guide things._

 _Anahel’s gardens_ , she thought, and wished she had anything else to do.

When she glanced at the clock, she paused midstep. It had been over two hours since Ashmedai had left. She’d totally lost track of time—but more worrying, what had happened to the Red Queen’s check-in?

_Did she come up with a plan that doesn’t require me and forget to say anything?_

_Don’t care. Don’t expect things. Trust people to act in their own best interest._

“Piper,” rasped a low voice from the shadows that had gathered next to the door. Dantalion regarded her, his hat pulled low over eyes like golden fire. When he had her attention, he said quietly, “I need your help.”

She took a moment to breathe, mentally smoothing down her hair and preparing herself for the world of other people. Then she said, “What can I do?”

He held out his hand to her, as Ashmedai had, as Anahel had. “Quickly, before—”

Before he could finish, she’d grabbed at his hand with both of hers, like she was drowning and he could pull her from her turbulent thoughts.

If he was startled, he didn’t show it. His eyes flared, that was all. Nearly instantly, a vision of storms and shattered stone swallowed her as he formed the bond. After a moment of shock, the vision exploded into Dantalion’s darkness, quietly comfortable even as she could see the red cracks. And then the sensation faded as the connection to Dantalion stabilized beside her other ones.

 _I need your help._ He spoke directly in her mind, still holding her hand. _She and I have been disagreeing. But Raphael is— I no longer care what the Red Queen thinks. I want to fetch help._

“Help?” Piper murmured, without being able to stop herself.

“Our other Anchors are all deployed. They all have partner angels. They could be attacking our enemy from outside. She’s refused to contact them via her methods. With your help, I can escape Rainbow without interference and bring them back.” He spoke softly but rapidly.

She whispered, “You’re injured, though?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If I wasn’t, this would all go very differently. But you can compensate for that with this.” He lifted her hand, showing her the void augment on the back. A third of the design was still bright and unused.

Piper stared at him as her heart began hammering. The Red Queen reminded her too much of the scientists and examiners of her childhood. She was Authority, and Piper was in the mood to rebel. To try her best. To throw all of herself into uncertain hope, an unknown future.

“All right,” she said, nodding. “Do it. Bring back help.”

His eyes held hers as she felt the draw.

Piper approved it, and released the power. It seemed to leap from her hand to him, and in doing so, turn him into a bolt of black lightning that shot through the closed door, out of the Ark, and through the boundaries of the pocket world.

She felt when the new bond thinned through distance, and when it faded entirely. It didn’t take long at all. Half a minute? Fifteen seconds? And then he was gone from her awareness, as if he’d never been.

Sighing, Piper went back to her couch to wait for the consequences.


	24. 17.2: Mattering

When Piper went to bed that afternoon, Rain retreated to her room with a laptop computer to perform whatever network or computing tasks the Red Queen sent her. She didn’t ordinarily spend much time there, because the only place she had to sit was her bunk bed. Once upon a time, she’d kept the lower bunk clear as a sort of makeshift couch, but it had long since become additional storage for books, electronics, game systems, and gifts Malachai and the anchors had brought her from the greater world: all stuff she hadn’t quite committed to either storing or throwing out.

She stretched on her top bunk for several hours, supervising the processes the Red Queen delegated to her but unable to concentrate on much else. When the Red Queen began running simulations of the immediate future without Anahel, focus became even harder. She didn’t want to think about the things the Red Queen was thinking about, so she ran her functions and reported her numbers and in between, she drifted from scattered thought to scattered thought.

Her night’s sleep had been disrupted by the visceral memories of her encounter with Ashmedai, and a whispering voice she suspected came from Jabberwocky. She’d woken with the intention to ‘see what happened’ with Ashmedai, and then carefully spent every waking moment with Piper or others, or hiding in her room.

It was, she told herself, a compromise.

But she didn’t enjoy lurking in her room. It sapped her creativity, and turned her drive into sleepiness. When somebody knocked at her door, she didn’t even think before swinging down from her bed and opening it.

Ashmedai stood on the other side, his dark hair rumpled and his shadowed eyes fixed on her face. A split-second’s thought of _I should have known_ and then she’d closed the door again, her heart pounding in her chest.

 _This wasn’t real_ , she scolded herself. It was only Ashmedai’s reaction to the siege; he wanted entertainment and he’d finally noticed her. If everything worked out, he’d get bored and move on soon enough. All she had to do was wait him out.

But when he knocked on the door again, she remembered that she’d committed to ‘seeing what happened’. Here she was: she’d hidden in her room, and he’d tracked her down with a hungry look in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door again. He smiled as she did—not his bared teeth grin, not his suppressed laugh, but a small smile, flickering and pleased.

She gazed at him stoically. “Well? What is it?”

His voice low and teasing, he said, “Here you are in your nest, stormy.”

Having no response to this, she remained silent, simply looking at him while she could. He lifted his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear again, his fingers sliding through the stands delicately, and her eyes drifted closed as he brushed over her ear.

Then his hand slid behind her head and he pulled her to him, close enough that his breath stirred her hair as he wrapped his arms around her. For a long moment, he simply held her against him, and Rain’s hands went to his waist without conscious thought. When she noticed, she told herself it was because he made her so unsteady; she’d be damned if she fell over this time when he stopped.

But when his mouth brushed over her forehead, she had no excuse for the way she lifted her face to his, blindly seeking his kiss. His mouth was soft against hers only briefly, before the tip of his tongue moved over her lips and then drove between them. As his embrace tightened, he drew her into the corridor a step. Then her back was against the corridor wall and once again his hands moved over her body: cupping her breasts, stroking down her leg, squeezing her ass. His thigh pressed between her jean-covered legs as their kiss became more frantic, and it wasn’t until he broke away to kiss her neck that she realized he was very purposefully staying above her clothes this time.

Occasionally he’d brush a finger over the bare skin revealed by her top, hiked up on one side an inch or so. But it always seemed to be an accident he moved away from, ignoring her little whimpers of protest. Irritation seasoned her arousal, a bite like the nip of his teeth on her neck. He was acting intentionally, and it wasn’t out of kindness.

As she tilted her head back to give him better access, she muttered, “You are _so annoying_.”

He breathed, _“_ Tell me more,” in her ear, before using his teeth on her lobe. She gasped at the sharpness of the sensation, but refused to indulge him. She already had her hands under his shirt, curled against the muscles of his lower back (for security, for stability, that was all), and in response to his nip, she dug her nails into his smooth skin.

She just saw a flash of his bared-teeth smile before he kissed her mouth again, his hands massaging her breasts. Slowly, his movements became increasingly rough, as if he could with enough pressure reach through the fabric separating him from her skin. When he pulled away from her mouth again to bite his way down to her collar, it occurred to her that he found staying above her clothes as frustrating as she did. He wanted her to ask for more, and she wasn’t going to do that. She was waiting it out, dammit, not encouraging him.

She thought briefly that she ought to push him away, regain some control over the situation. But she couldn’t do that, either. Some dangerous, shameful part of her wanted to see how far his frustration would take him, thrilling to the possibilities.

His teeth raked across her collarbone, and his tongue explored the hollow of her throat. He seemed eager to taste every bit of her skin he could reach, and moved jerkily, like he wasn’t quite in control of himself. But it wasn’t until his hands squeezed her upper arms to hold her, and the pressure grew more and more painful, that she mustered the willpower to do anything.

“Stop,” she managed, as he tugged at her collar with his teeth to expose unmarked skin. “Please. You’re hurting me.”

One hand released her arm, only to twist painfully in her hair as he once again kissed her mouth—but for perhaps for five seconds, no more. When he finally lifted his head, a rictus of a grin stretched his mouth, like a monster under his skin had come to the surface. Then he shoved himself away from her and stalked a few steps down the hall to rest his head against the wall, breathing hard.

Rain leaned against the wall herself, feeling the deep ache in her arms and a different ache in her core. After sorting out the difference between the two, she watched Ashmedai worriedly. Gradually, his clenched fists relaxed, and at last he let out a long sigh and lifted his head to look at her sidelong. “Are you all right?”

Swallowing a sigh of relief, she said gruffly, “I’ll be fine.” He kept giving her that sidelong look, and she made a show of straightening herself. Then she came to a decision. If he’d tracked her here, there was absolutely no point to hiding uncomfortably in her room. “I’ll be right back.”

Without waiting for a response, she went back into her room, packed up her laptop and a few tools, and turned off her lights. Then, closing the door behind her, she left again. Ashmedai had slid down the wall, sitting with his knees up and his hands loose. When she emerged, laptop case over her shoulder, he looked up and smiled. As he rose lithely to his feet, she scowled and stalked past him.

He fell into step beside her, as she’d expected, but said nothing. His silence pulled at her. He’d kissed her twice now. She didn’t _want_ to talk about it. But if she didn’t say something, if she didn’t _try_ to understand, she was giving up even the semblance of control. Each time he kissed her, if felt like a natural disaster (unstoppable, irresistible).But supposedly there was a person underneath.

And he had stopped when she’d asked, both times. She wouldn’t have expected that of him.

“Why do you keep doing that?” she blurted, and then flushed at her own bluntness.

His fingers brushed her hand as he walked beside her, and she drew away instantly. “Because of that,” he said calmly. “You react so strongly to me, whether you’re pushing me away or leaning into my hand. It’s intoxicating.”

“What about all your other little flings?” Rain asked, angry at herself for reacting just as he’d expected. “They seemed to like you a lot more than I do. Some of them still do.”

Thoughtfully, he said, “It’s not the same. I don’t know how, but it’s not.”

“You just take them for granted,” she accused. “I know what it is. You expect everybody to love you, and I don’t, and you think that’s a challenge.” Even as she said it, she knew it was untrue. He didn’t expect people to love him. He didn’t care _how_ they felt. That was one of the problems.

As if she hadn’t said anything, he said, “The others here have… a dream of me. Of what I could be if they loved me enough. You don’t.” His gaze drifted to her and she looked away, straight ahead, quickening her pace. “I mean, come, be _honest_. What do you think of me?”

“You’re an annoying, selfish, playboy psychopath,” said Rain promptly. After all, she’d been telling herself that all day.

He smiled, keeping up with her easily. “You see? You have no illusions about me. But why is it you hate me, yet let me kiss you?”

“Shock,” she snapped.

“Liar,” he said, but without rancor. “I like that you don’t expect me to be normal.”

“I expect you to be _terrible_.” Rain stopped at one of the elevators and banged on the call button.

He laughed. “And I won’t disappoint you. Where are you going now?”

“My office. I have work to do.” She adjusted the laptop case on her shoulder and moved into the elevator when the doors opened.

He followed her within and leaned against the opposite wall, crossing his arms. She punched the button for the basement containing her office and stared fixedly at the panel, keenly aware of his gaze on her.

As the elevator came to a smooth halt, he said, “May I assist? I can be very helpful. I’m told I learn fast.”

She heard an earnestness under his request that made her soften her refusal. “Thank you, but no.”

The doors slid open and she stepped out. Once again, he followed her. “Hmm. Well, I’m sure I can find something to do in your office.”

Rain glanced at him and saw his raised eyebrows, as if he anticipated her attempt to get him to go away again. But she knew how to thwart him. “Fine. But if you don’t let me work, we’re all going to die, so just keep that in mind.”

She marched into her office and sat down at her clean desk. He stood at the entrance, looking around, that distracting little smile curving his mouth. Then, quietly, he began tidying the small space, starting with the overflowing trash bin below her coffee stand.

Rain pretended to work while watching him for a few moments, but eventually she concluded he was at least marginally serious about being helpful and turned her attention to the Red Queen’s assignments, which were just important enough to help distract her from his movements.

But every time her anxiety about the situation with Anahel became too much, she looked away, and found her office a little bit cleaner. Once he caught her peeking and smiled at her. When she looked down quickly, he laughed. A flurry of confused emotions churned through her, and then it was much easier to focus on the Red Queen’s simulation details than Ashmedai’s long fingers as he rearranged her shelves.

At last the Red Queen’s demands slackened as something else drew her attention, and Rain leaned back, stretching. Ashmedai had thrown away random trash, rearranged her shelves, and somehow managed to clear her couch. He sat there now, his legs crossed tailor-style as he read a novel she’d thought Tachi had stolen a year ago. He looked up as her chair creaked.

“You know, if you just want to read, there’s other places to do that,” she told him, knowing it was pointless yet unable to stop herself.

He closed the book over one finger. “I do not ‘just want to read’. But you’ve told me we may all die if I indulge myself, and I wouldn’t want that.”

“Indulge yourself pestering me?” she asked, and hated herself for engaging with him. But the alternative to being irritated by Ashmedai was bone-chilling _fear_.

She could be his Anchor. Not only had she seen the charts Mal had tried to show Piper, she’d felt it herself right before he’d bonded with the other woman. His desperate hunger when Alice had all but cut him off had caught her, _drawn_ from her momentarily. The whole situation had been a waking nightmare of a caliber she hadn’t experienced in years. Far, far better to be irritated, and ashamed of her attraction than be terrified, and ashamed of her fear.

“Pestering you? Is that what you’re calling it?” Ashmedai smiled, and she shivered, grateful to Piper for stopping Malachai from revealing her secret.

“I could use stronger words,” she said sharply and then stopped suddenly as his smile broadened and she remembered the sequence of events. This was not a conversation she wanted to pursue right now. Hurriedly, she added, “But I won’t. It’s not like you’d listen.”

He unfolded his legs and leaned forward. “Of course I’d listen, stormy. And then I’d entertain you, as you entertain me.”

Rain slid down in her chair. “I don’t want to be entertained.”

His smile went strange for a moment. “Is that true, I wonder? Maybe so.”

She lowered her gaze to her desk. She didn’t want to talk about _this_ , either.“Why don’t you go back to Piper? You’ve been looking for an Anchor for so long and now you have one and you’re neglecting her.”

“Piper is too kind,” he said shortly.

“What, you want to be abused? Yelled at? And I thought I was screwed up.” She twisted a loose strand of plastic from the fraying edge of the armrest of her chair.

“You know what I want, stormy,” he said, and the impatience in his voice made her look up.

“I really don’t,” she said helplessly. “I keep trying to understand.”

He rose and leaned across her desk to stroke down the side of her face. Once again, the delicate touch sent shivers through her. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment before she jerked her head away. As his hand dropped to the desk, she said, “I mean, is this just about sex? Is all the fighting making you horny? Because I can’t think of any other reason you’d want to be around somebody who hates you.”

After staring at her for a moment with hooded eyes, he returned to the couch. “You were a key part of resolving the first incarnarium, I remember.”

Rain mumbled, “I don’t want to talk about that.” She stared at the Warp mark on her arm. It was true, and yet remembering it brought her too close to her fear, and the trauma of the experience.

“Here’s a distraction, children,” announced the Red Queen acidly, and Rain jumped. But the Red Queen’s intervention pulled her from her darkening thoughts and made her feel a little safer, so she didn’t mind.

“Let me just give you a quick status update. Our new Anchor has not only bonded with Anahel, but with Dantalion. She’s used that bond to do something _incredibly stupid_ , and now we need to accelerate incarnating Twelve, with all the risks that entails. Thus I’ll be borrowing her from you, Ashmedai, so she can help me out from within Wonderland. You’ll have to defend the Ark without her.”

Ashmedai gave a one-sided shrug. “Based on what we’ve faced so far, I can do that. What did she do?”

“She sent Dantalion out of Rainbow to _fetch help_.” The irritation in the Red Queen’s voice made Rain flinch. “I told him and told him I didn’t want to draw the other Anchors into this trap, but Anahel fell and all he could see was Raphael on the battlefield. And now here we are. What we’ll do when it’s only Raphael left to defend us is an enigma he neglected to solve for me.”

Rain’s gut tightened. “Only Raphael? Why?”

“Because we have to send Malachai and Twelve into Jabberwocky with Piper, and Ashmedai either goes with them or collapses like the others. Either way, he becomes irrelevant to the defense.”

Full-blown nausea replaced the discomfort in Rain’s stomach. The cold, hard, remote look on Ashmedai’s face made it even worse, squeezing her heart and clenching her fists. The Red Queen knew, she _had_ to know—but long ago, at Rain’s request, she’d deleted Rain’s pattern from the Looking Glass database. Had she deleted it from her own knowledge banks as well? Or simply not considered the issue in the years since, as Rain and Ashmedai’s psychic patterns had synchronized?

“Thank you for the warning, Your Majesty,” said Ashmedai, and the ice in his voice cut like a knife.

“Yes, it’s grim, isn’t it? Here’s the bright side for you. I know how much you rely on companionship to manage your other half, Ash. Stop poking Rain about the first incarnarium, or any other topic she rejects, and I’ll assign her to entertain you in between assaults.”

“Oh my god,” said Rain, and buried her face in her hands.


	25. 18: A Polite Escort

When the knock came at Piper’s door, she’d been expecting it. The half-articulated remark from the Red Queen, ten minutes previous and broken off before it was coherent, had been a warning. She answered the door with her hat and a small shoulder bag with some things she’d packed just in case… just in case. She couldn’t reasonably imagine she’d be turned out and fed to the demons, and she couldn’t be exiled from Rainbow at the moment—but when one has chosen to go against the local authorities it was always smart to think of ‘just in case’.

To her surprise, Sajan Cardoc, Ark Director, stood without, a worried smile on his face and his shaggy red hair tousled. “Ah, hello, Miss Jones.”

She’d seen him when she’d helped assemble the generator chassis the previous ‘day’ but she hadn’t really spoken with him since the morning before she met Alice. “Oh! Hi…” She trailed off, watching him worriedly.

He met her eyes and then his smile relaxed. He chuckled. “Two peas in a pod, aren’t we. Will you accompany me to the Red Queen’s workshop, Miss Jones? She has something she needs your help with.”

“Of course,” said Piper automatically, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her. As they began to walk down the hall, she asked timidly, “Is she very angry?”

Sajan gave a rueful shake of his head. “She is extremely exasperated, but she reserves her anger for when it will be useful. Don’t worry, she may scold, but she herself said that expecting you to resist either Dantalion or Anahel was unrealistic.”

Piper drew her brows together. As far as she remembered, she’d made her own decisions in each case. Although Anahel had applied some sparkle to her request, Tachi had given Piper every chance to refuse. But then again, she’d already known the Red Queen didn’t have a lot of respect for her decision-making.

“But she sent you to come get me.” She looked up at the ceiling, where she always imagined the Red Queen watching remotely.“Instead of just asking me to come. Did she think I’d run away?”

Before Sajan could do more than glance at her, a voice called out to him.

“Sajan! There you are!” called Malachai, strolling down an intersection as they crossed it. “Some of the others—”

“No, Malachai.” Sajan cut him off in a pleasant tone of voice, but a steely look had come into his eyes. “You can walk with us, but you’re not sending me off on a wild goose chase. Too much is at stake.”

Some nameless emotion flared in Malachai, so violent and strong that Piper flinched and stumbled against Sajan. He caught her elbow lightly and released her as soon as she had her balance again. When she looked up, Malachai stood right beside her.

She bit her lip and started walking again. Malachai smiled brightly as he fell into step on Piper’s other side. “No? That’s fine. I wanted a moment alone with Piper, but the alone part isn’t important.”

Dryly, Sajan said, “The Red Queen explicitly said she doesn’t have time for one of your ‘moments with Piper.’”

“Really? She said that? I wonder what she could _possibly_ be thinking.”

“About the safety of the Ark. Mal—”

Piper look stonily ahead as they spoke over her. Malachai’s chaos flickered to her right like a flame heating the side of her face. He’d felt like this at the end of the briefing, and she’d touched his arm to make sure he was all right. In her heart, she wanted him to be all right now, but without understanding his internal chaos and what role she had within it, touching him would only get her burned. He would only take her good will and walk away. What she wanted didn’t matter to him.

“The Red Queen is being careful. Smart,” interrupted Malachai. “Maybe not smart enough though.” He was angry, Piper realized, despite his cheerful face.

Apparently Sajan realized it too, because he slowed and then stopped, frowning. “Malachai, you’re talking wildly.”

The other man stopped as well, his expression shifting rapidly to something ugly before becoming the face of a man both tired and harassed. “Am I? Maybe so.” His gaze slid over Piper without meeting her eyes before returning to Sajan. “This is a challenging situation and I…” He grimaced. “I really would like to talk to Piper.”

Piper, who had paused with Sajan, pressed her lips tightly together and started walking again, leaving the two men behind.

“That’s not up to me,” said Sajan, as he caught up with her.

Malachai stayed where he’d stopped, but as she approached the elevator, he called, his voice hard, “Piper. Don’t.”

Simmering frustration and annoyance flared and anger swept over Piper. She turned around. The air rippled around the angel like a heat haze, but she hardly noticed. “Don’t _what_ , Malachai? Don’t trust you? Don’t believe in you? Don’t care about you? Believe me, I’m trying.”

He took a step closer, his gaze fixed on her face, but said nothing, which only fed Piper’s wrath. Words spilled out of her, so fast they tumbled over each other. “You wanted to talk to me? But you didn’t. You talked over me, until I walked away. I’ve tried and tried, but talking to me is exactly what you _don’t_ do.”

Suddenly Malachai stood right in front of her, moving the length of the hall in the blink of an eye. Warm air gusted around her and the abrupt movement dizzied her. He wasn’t smiling, but his brown eyes were alive with emotion.His voice very soft, he said, “Piper…”

She wanted, oh, she _wanted_ to lean toward him, let him touch her, smile at him, accept the inevitability of hurt and seize pleasure—but the _want_ itself hurt. Sometimes when he smiled at her, he made her believe in a world where she didn’t need to accept hurt. How could she forgive him for that?

Piper pulled herself back from him, walked over to the elevator and slapped the call button. Then she crossed her arms. “You want to talk? Go for it.”

He raised a gloved hand toward her, his brow furrowed, and then dropped it. Earnestly, he said, “I think you’re being influenced by Jabberwocky.”

And he really did. He thought that if she was angry at him, it had to be the result of interference by Jabberwocky. Her jaw clenched. “I had _very different_ thoughts about you when Jabberwocky messed with my head. So no. I don’t think so.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. Piper stepped inside, so tense she trembled, When only Sajan followed her in before the doors closed, she couldn’t tell if what washed over her was relief or disappointment.

As the elevator began to move, she passed a hand over her face. “Sajan, you said the other day he was worth it despite his lies. I’d love to hear how.”

“Ah,” said Sajan quietly. “Well, he works hard on behalf of the Ark, and usually can be trusted to act in its best interests.” He was silent for a moment, but as the elevator came to a halt, he said, “He’s been… erratic lately, though. Miss Jones, if I may ask, why _are_ you angry at him? I won’t interfere between you, but maybe I can help.” He spread his hands invitingly.

Piper leaned her head back against the elevator wall, not moving as the doors opened. “Do you think I was helpless before Dantalion and Anahel?”

“I don’t really know. Dantalion mentioned you had enough willpower to drag him to you, will he, nill he. Anahel…” He smiled fondly. “Anahel can be very convincing.”

Piper gave him a grudging pass on the question. “I’d tell you if I could. I’d tell _him_ if I could. But all I really know is that I don’t like being treated like a child.” Her mouth tightened. “He of all people shouldn’t be doing that.”

Sajan coughed discreetly. “Ah, well. Yes. I’ll keep that in mind.” He moved out of the elevator and she followed him.

The Red Queen’s Workshop was apparently unoccupied save for clouds of motes, but a new piece of equipment had taken the place of the cubicle used to scan Piper earlier. This was a kind of pod, a little like Alice’s, and seeing it, Piper felt a thrill of real fear. _That_ wasn’t an option she’d expected at all. She thought of Malachai’s antagonism toward the Red Queen and her hand tightened on her shoulder bag. If he’d known about this—!

She wondered if she could find him if she broke and ran now, and then caught herself, and then caught herself again as she realized she’d take him and his deceptions in a heartbeat if that was what it took to avoid being trapped like little Alice.

“Calm yourself, Miss Jones,” said the Red Queen, forming from motes before the bank of screens. “It’s temporary.”

“I don’t trust you,” said Piper bluntly.

“A shame,” said the Red Queen calmly. “Without your assistance, I won’t be able to incarnate Twelve before the sheer trauma of the invasion breaks Rainbow down.”

“What can _I_ do? And why in _that_?”

“It will help you access and work in Wonderland. I believe you’ve been having problems in that area, yes?” One elegant brow arched on the Red Queen’s face. “From within Wonderland there are certain tasks you can do that will, in theory, be very helpful. Of course it’s never been tried before.”

_Pain and betrayal were inevitable. She was a lab specimen. True escape was beyond her; all she could do was be patient._

He’d made her think, for a time, that he’d change all that.

“What if you change your mind while I’m in there?” asked Piper stubbornly.

There was a pause that went on a little too long and then the Red Queen said, her voice edged with the exasperation Sajan had promised, “I think I can safely say that it would be a nearly impossible scenario for you to be permanently in the pod. Even if I wanted it, other forces would make it cost prohibitive. And as it happens, I don’t. I’d like you to accompany Twelve into Jabberwocky to destroy the bastard.” Her voice had a distinct edge by the end.

Piper took a few steps toward the pod, and then stopped again. “I made my own decision with Dantalion, you know. And elsewhere.”

“Of course,” said the Red Queen, her voice almost syrupy with the artificial sweetener. “Perhaps we’ll talk about that _later_. You can show me just how wrong I’ve been. But for now—”

Piper sighed. “All right. Tell me how to get into that thing.”


	26. 19: Jenga

“Please, Rain. This is far more helpful to me than running extra simulations,” whispered the Red Queen, directly into Rain’s ear. To those who knew her well, her voice showed the strain she was under—and Rain knew her very well. “We need him to stay balanced, and he distorts when he’s alone.”

Rain sprawled on the couch in one of the Ark’s public lounges, watching as Ashmedai played a video game on the big wall-mounted screen. Apparently, he hadn’t spent much time with video games since the Ark had returned from the first incarnarium, but nobody would guess that watching him. Piper had described his facility picking up new skills as _annoying_ and Rain felt like this was a severe understatement.

She could hear the Red Queen’s strain, but it didn’t make her feel any better. She tapped on her phone, “I don’t appreciate being sacrificed to entertain a psychopath _you_ created.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” said the Red Queen. “Besides, he’d be bothering you anyhow. I certainly don’t have the bandwidth to keep him away right now, and isn’t it better to have some rules safeguarding your interactions?”

“You gave him rules about _talking_ to me, but not about _touching_ me,” typed Rain, scowling.

The Red Queen made an irritated noise that tickled Rain’s ear. “You’re perfectly capable of managing that level of interaction on your own. You have been so far and honestly I haven’t got the time to analyze your unspoken rules.”

“Be here with me, stormy,” said Ashmedai, without looking away from the big screen of the game. “Better yet, play with me.”

Rain didn’t say anything, although she stopped looking at her personal screen and focused on the virtual battlefield he’d been carving his way through. He’d been doing very well for a beginner but given the game’s design there were limits to how quickly he could advance—and it was content she knew very well already. She’d taken him to the lounge as a pointed reminder that he really did have other places to sit and read, and possibly find entertainment that didn’t involve her. Now she was regretting that, on a number of levels she didn’t want to look at too closely.

He played a moment more and then found the pause button, turning to look at her. “Or you could play and I could watch.” A smile curved his mouth. “I’d enjoy that.”

A shiver ran down her spine. After thinking of all the trouble he could get into with her hands occupied and his hands free, she scowled. “I’ll play with you.”

He gave her his controller and went to fetch the second one. While he did, she quickly reconfigured his character to her own playstyle. It was a co-operative game, but she wasn’t going to give up this chance to demonstrate her superiority in at least one field.

When he reseated himself, he looked at what she’d done and then started a different character with a default build. After that, he watched her quietly until she finished modifying the character she’d stolen from him.

“I’ll follow your lead, I think,” he said, as they started once again on a new battlefield. It was a perfectly reasonable and even _smart_ thing to say, but it irritated Rain all the same. They played together in silence for a while and she found herself wishing the loot in the game wasn’t shared equally so she could snipe it from him. Instead, clenching her jaw, she drove the two of them forward, striving to reach content he couldn’t handle.

It never quite happened. Though he died more than she did, he never died the same way twice. He wasn’t shy about emulating her, either, when her techniques worked better. It made her both uncomfortable and nervous. She knew she played well, even without taking into account the dubious edge brought by her small electronics Warp (which only really helped in games when predicting pre-decided random outcomes).

She played well, and it was a ridiculous thing to invest her self-image into—and yet the thought of him exceeding her in an hour of play was terrifying. He’d swallow her up whole, everything she was, nothing left behind, and then he’d move onto somebody else. The way he followed her lead seemed more and more like a kind of mockery. Or a trick, perhaps. He was trying to slide past her dislike, manipulate her into liking him. She wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let that work.

Instead, she pushed herself harder and harder, defeating her targets and then moving to finish off his—behavior that had no meaningful impact on the game but clearly revealed her fundamental aggression. When he only laughed and backed off as she destroyed the miniboss, she ground her teeth, finished the fight and snapped, “Are you even taking this seriously?”

“It’s a game, stormy,” he said teasingly.

“You _would_ say that.” She brooded over her character, swapping equipment. If he did this well and he wasn’t even _trying_ —

“There are other things I take seriously. Like you.”

Rain froze and then said, carefully, “No, you don’t. If you took me seriously, you would have left the first time I told you to go away.”

His teeth flashed. “That would have been the proper thing to do, yes. But I am not a proper person, even at my best.”

“So instead you—” Rain shut her mouth as the full weight of his regard settled on her. His eyes glittered like black diamonds.

“So instead I paid attention to you, and you paid attention to me.” The look in his eyes reminded her keenly that for all that they were in a public lounge, they were very much alone. The part of her that feared him, feared his fire and the ashes he’d leave behind wanted to curl into a ball and hide. The rest of her, fascinated by the attraction he exerted over her, wanted to lean toward that look in his eyes.

She compromised by sitting very stiffly, her heart racing. She could tell him they weren’t doing _that_ again, and he’d probably listen—but her mouth was far too dry. When he deliberately set his game controller down and shifted closer to her, he moved as slowly as if he were trying to catch a wild bird.

The sense of _choice_ she had paralyzed her. As he lifted his hand, she could see he was going to stroke her hair again. She knew she could lean into it—and what would happen after that. Or she could pull her head away—and _she didn’t know which she wanted._

The flame of irritation that made him call her _stormy_ sparked in her chest, offering both salvation and comfort. She’d avoided this choice for so long! How dare he offer it to her now? Her fingers tightened on the controller she still held. She’d practically rewritten her life to avoid him and here he was, almost _courting_ her, and it was _wrong_ , she _hated_ it, she knew it was a lie—

His fingers just brushed her hair and her muscles tensed to hit him as she’d previously struck him when—

“I’m almost sorry to interrupt this,” came the Red Queen’s dry voice from the ceiling rather than Rain’s ear. “But you’re needed, Ashmedai. The demons are back, and this time they can fly.”

The set of his face shifted subtly, something sharp and eager replacing his gentle intensity. His hand dropped from Rain’s hair to her shoulder. “Come outside with me and watch, stormy. See what I can do in a _serious_ battle.”

Tension became brittle fear. Rain jerked herself out from under his hand. “Are you crazy? I can’t protect myself and if you tried to do so, they’d have even more of a chance to damage Rainbow. Besides, I already know what you can do. I was there when you almost killed Piper, remember?”

She stopped, catching her breath as his face closed off. He stood up, staring down at her. “Very well. Don’t wander off, stormy. I’ll be back soon.” After staring at her a moment more, he strode from the room.

Rain exhaled slowly, trying to release some of the tension she’d accumulated. Carefully, her hands shaking, she saved the game she and Ashmedai had been playing together.

“Rain—” began the Red Queen, and then stopped without saying more. She didn’t bother responding. They’d known each other a long time, and their relationship had changed a lot in that period. The past was the past and it was far too late for the Red Queen to indulge in worries about Rain in particular. She knew that, and so she didn’t answer, and so the Red Queen, who had asked this of her, left her alone.

Others were less kind. Rain had her head leaned back on the couch, her eyes closed as she remembered some of the game they’d played and bits she hadn’t allowed herself to enjoy, when Malachai made his unwelcome presence known to her.

“Rain!” he said brightly, and she opened her eyes. He stood before her, grinning.

“Mal,” she said flatly, recalling that it was _he_ who had invited Ashmedai to that damned midnight breakfast cookery. He probably thought this was hilarious—

No. That grin…That grin was bad, the worst of all possible grins. It meant Malachai was _angry_ , and out for blood. Nervously she sat up again. There’d been a time when she trusted that Malachai wouldn’t have hurt her, not really. But right now, with Piper around, she wasn’t sure he even understood what _hurting her_ meant.

“What’s wrong?” she asked cautiously. “Jabberwocky—?”

Malachai sat on the couch beside her, stretching his legs out. “Would you happen to be why Piper’s upset with me, Rain?”

The back of Rain’s neck prickled. But she could answer truthfully, so she did so. “No. I don’t know why she’s mad at you, but I noticed she was.” Then her temper flared and she added, “Honestly, Mal, there are so _many_ possible reasons, if you’re trying to find just one it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“No, no,” he said. “When we had hot chocolate, everything was fine.” His smile sharpened. “Something must have happened with our Jabberwocky. The Rex is even more clever than I expected, if he’s attacking along that route.”

Rain wasn’t exactly sure ‘convincing Piper to avoid Malachai’ counted as an attack so much as an intervention, but she kept that thought to herself. Instead, like a dutiful friend, she asked, “Can’t you think of anything you might have done that would have triggered this?”

Instead of answering, he said, “I thought I wanted her not to trust me. But this is really annoying me. It’s making it so hard to _focus_.”

The prickle on Rain’s neck grew stronger and a cold chill ran through her. “Malachai, why… why are you so fixated on her, anyhow? I mean, I like her a lot and I’m glad she’s here, but you’re… you’ve never been like this before.”

His shoulders rippled in a shrug before he ran both his hands through his wavy hair. “Do you know how I first met her? She’d given up her place in a storm shelter line to a kid she didn’t even know. Not even a cute little kid, but some rich spotty teenager scared to death to be caught outside so far from home. She was going to one of the prayer shelters when I caught her. She wouldn’t have made it, though.” He glanced up at the sky. “I wonder if he knew where she was even then.”

Rain understood the unspoken _Sammael_ , but pushed that final thought aside. “So she’s really kind. Stupidly kind. So is Sajan.”

Flippantly, Malachai said, “And I’d kill anybody who hurt Sajan, too.”

“Unless it was you.” It was nonsense from both of them. Whatever drew Malachai to Piper, Sajan obviously didn’t share it.

He scoffed. “Pranks don’t count.”

Rain slid down the couch back to her normal slouch. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“I haven’t played any pranks on Piper, anyhow.” He returned to brooding.

“Have you tried _asking_ her why she’s upset?”

With a scowl, he said, “She doesn’t want to tell me. When I tried to find out, she just told me I didn’t talk to her. And I _have_. I told her—” He stopped, shaking his head.

“Oh,” said Rain quietly, as understanding dawned.

Malachai focused on her. “What? Tell me what’s occurred in that clever little brain of yours, Rain.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Rain…” he said warningly, his mouth thin and white.

“ _No_.” She twisted her hands together. “Forget I said anything. You have to figure this out on your own.”

His face tightened. “All right. Fine. Hey, are you going to Anchor Ashmedai? I recall you wanted to figure _that_ out on your own, too.”

“Malachai, _no_ ,” she said desperately. “Don’t go that way. It won’t help, it’ll just make things worse.”

He shrugged. “I just want to know why she’s upset so I can fix it, Rain. And if you bond with Ashmedai, I’ll have a lot more ways to do that.”

“You said you wouldn’t do that because _she_ didn’t want you to!”

His face almost empty of expression, he said, “Yes. But if she’s already angry at me, what do I have to lose?”

Rain tugged on her hair. If her guess was right, explaining why Piper wasn’t talking to him would be tantamount to betraying her. She couldn’t do that, not after what she’d already done. “Look… how about if I give you some advice?”

“I’d like that. Really, I would.”

She didn’t like the look in his eyes at all, but she plunged ahead. “Stop handling her, stop trying to manage her and manipulate her. She’s not a porcelain doll on a shelf.”

Slowly a frown grew on his face. “Of course she’s not. She’s real.”

Uneasily, Rain studied him. He said that like Piper was the only real thing in his world, and that spiked Rain’s worry. He hadn’t understood what she meant at all, while she understood much more than she had about what kind of trouble the Ark was in with Malachai in this state of confusion. If he thought he had to choose between Piper and the Ark… that thought went very dark directions. _Especially_ since it was entirely unnecessary. Piper was a gentle soul, and resolving this conflict probably just required Malachai to stop…

Well, to stop being Malachai, possibly. She winced at the thought, and said aloud, “I’ll talk to her myself, all right?”

“She’s helping the Red Queen in Wonderland by now,” he said flatly. “When she comes out, so does Twelve.”

Stubbornly, Rain said, “Once all this is settled, then. Just… hang in there, all right? Don’t do anything drastic.”

He rose to his feet. “I’ll keep that in mind. No, don’t whine, Rain.” With that sharp grin, he added, “We all have hard choices to make right now. Good luck with yours.”

Before Rain could give vent to her indignant feelings, he left the lounge, calling out an airy greeting to Raphael as he did. “Hello, Raphael. Eavesdropping? It doesn’t suit you, but I guess we’re all changing jobs, eh?”

The healer stepped into view at the lounge entrance. A faint line creased her brow as she looked at Rain, and then she came over and knelt down in front of her.

Already on edge, Rain said, “What?” far more sharply than she intended, or the healer ever deserved.

“I wish to speak with you about Ashmedai,” said Raphael seriously.

Her gut tightened. “Is he—?”

“He is injured, but still fighting. That is… the lesser part of why I have come.” Raphael tucked a strand of strawberry hair behind her ear. “We are monitoring him, you see. And he is… destabilizing as he fights.”

Rain tried to brush this off. “He always does when he fights, right? That’s the whole point. Making him a better weapon.”

“It is worse this time. Perhaps because Piper is not available to him, perhaps other reasons.” Raphael’s crimson gaze searched her face, as if looking for secrets.

“All right, sure. What do you want me to do?”

“Two things. First, I wish you to bring him to the infirmary if you can, so I can treat his wounds. I would normally intercept him upon his return but he is not in dire condition and I think it would be… helpful for him to seek you as soon as he can. You have taken on the responsibility of helping him find his balance, yes?”

That was Rain’s first clue that Raphael wasn’t here at the Red Queen’s bidding. Cautiously, she nodded.”I’m not suited for it, though, Raphael. I don’t like him and I… I provoke him. He provokes me.”

Calmly, Raphael nodded. “That is my second reason for coming. If you can’t help him, or if he threatens you in any way, I will sedate him.” Her voice flowed from calm to fierce. “I will not allow him to damage you, no matter what.”

Raphael meant the statement to be reassuring, that was certain. But it filled Rain with helpless dread. “But we need him to protect the Ark.”

The angel gave her a reassuring pat on the knee. “We shall have to cope without him anyhow as soon as the retaliatory mission sets off. Don’t worry. I won’t allow anyone to be harmed.” Her face momentarily brightened. “And I’m certain Dantalion will return swiftly with aid from the others. All will be well. You need only do your best, and I know you always do.”

Rain couldn’t stop the look of horror on her face. Raphael didn’t so much wear rose-colored glasses as believe she could _will_ the world into behaving the way she wanted. But while she could be surprisingly flexible in interpreting events to fit her will, she was also just plain wrong sometimes—like this belief she had that Rain always did her best. It wasn’t the reassurance she clearly intended it as, but a sign of just how distorted her perceptions could get.

Raphael didn’t even notice Rain’s expression as she stood. “I believe he will come soon. I will be nearby. I shall hear if you need me.” With a nod, she vanished into the corridor.

Rain, suddenly far too nervous and tense to sit still, bounced to her feet and began to pace around the lounge, inspecting books on shelves, old magazines, the game and video disc library. She felt like a rabbit in a tiger’s cage, waiting for the tiger to stroll in. Almost, she considered leaving, as he’d warned her not to do. Searching for her might entertain him, right?

But she didn’t. Everybody was already fragile and on edge. The Ark felt like an unstable tower, ready to collapse if it lost just one more brick. Even as afraid as she was, she couldn’t deliberately be the one to kick that brick away.

Ashmedai’s tread sounded in the hall a few seconds before he appeared at the entrance. His t-shirt had been shredded on one side and blood congealed over the ruins. Both his arms had slashes, and one of his lower legs, too. But he was smiling, and his eyes were liquid silver rather than their usual black.

She froze mid-step, and he said, “There you are. Thinking of running away?”

“No!” she snapped, because annoyance always helped the fear, and returned to the couch, defiantly sitting down again.

He stayed at the entrance, leaning on the frame. “Did you think of me while I was gone?” Before she could answer, he went on. “I thought of you. Each time I tore the wings off one of those pretend demons, I thought of you. About what you said about my ability to protect you. About what I did to Piper. About Malachai.”

He glanced around, his nose twitching. “He’s been here, I see. But he can’t take you away from me the way he can take Piper.”

“I’m not yours,” Rain said, and had no hesitation about curling her knees up to her chest in a protective ball. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“Why not?” He took a few steps into the room. “You already hate me, after all.”

“Because I almost stopped,” she said, and hated herself for admitting it.

With a laugh, he came closer. “What, because I was so good before? Because I was so patient? But I don’t want to lie to you, stormcloud. This is the real me.”

She scowled. “I was never completely fooled. You really are a monster after all.” Belatedly, she remembered she was supposed to be calming him, or at least taking him to the infirmary. But the injuries clearly weren’t slowing him down, and how the hell was she expected to calm him down?

He crouched before her, his eyes glimmering and blood-clotted hair curling wetly against his forehead.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting, too. Couldn’t you have showered first?” She said it and tensed, imagining the invitation he would have responded with before.

But not now, not in this frame of mind, with his other persona active. He laughed and caught her head with one hand, holding her firmly as she tried to shake him off. With one bloodstained finger, he stroked the line of her mouth. Then, smiling, he worked his finger between her lips.

Angrily, she caught the digit between her teeth and bit down hard. At the same time, her tongue flicked over his fingertip and she tasted the blood and the essence of his skin. Warmth coiled in the base of her stomach, rising up to match her irritation and fear.

He bared his teeth as she bit him. “Yes. Let’s play like that. How much further will you go, and what shall I do in response?”

A worrying thought. Rain released his finger and ejected it from her mouth long enough to say, “It’d probably just make me sick anyhow.”

Then his finger penetrated her mouth again. As her tongue inadvertently flicked over it once more, he murmured, “Kiss it and make it better. Better yet, suck on it.”

She couldn’t really help herself; the urge was almost instinctive. But as his eyes slitted in response to her mouth working, she kicked out with her feet explosively. Her heels struck him in the chest hard enough to knock him off his balance. As he fell back, his finger popped out of her mouth.

Beyond him, through the frosted glass beside the door, she could just see Raphael’s shadow. Frantically she shook her head. Raphael’s idea of assistance would not help right now.

Ashmedai laughed again and rolled to his feet. “And you said you couldn’t defend yourself. Let’s play more like that.”

“You’re an asshole and a psychopath,” she told him bluntly. “This is why nobody wants to be your Anchor, you know.”

His smile went strange and thin for a moment. “Is it? I am what I was made to be, though.”

“Bullshit. Nobody _made you_ come harass me.”

He came and sat down on the couch beside her, and she pointedly scooted away. In response, he caught her wrist. “No, don’t run. I’ve already caught you, anyhow.” His eyes had tarnished to the color of old steel rather than quicksilver.

She said, “Didn’t I already say I wasn’t yours?” and watched as his eyes brightened again.

“We could play that game?” he suggested.

“You’d lose in the end,” she told him brutally. “You know you would. You have before.”

“It might be worth it,” he murmured, watching her like she fascinated him.

“Why the hell would you think something like that?” She yanked on her wrist vainly.

Even tensed for sudden moves, his lunge took her by surprise. Before she could gasp, he had her under him on the couch and he was kissing her.

 _Just sex all along, then_ , she thought dizzily, and moved her hands to his shoulders so that Raphael didn’t draw dangerous conclusions. She’d figure this out on her own, figure out if she wanted it to continue or stop, she’d _handle it._ She had to.

But then he bit her lower lip hard, and whispered, “Because I like to _fight_ , stormcloud. And your eyes glow when you hate me.” Then he kissed her again, his tongue teasing hers and his fingers twisted in her hair.

For a moment, physical sensation took over thought as her body softened against his. Then a thought trickled through the delicious flashes of feeling as he pressed against her. “Wait,” she mumbled. “Hold up.”

He lifted his head a moment. His eyes still shone brightly against his dark skin. Then he licked her mouth and bit it a second time. Again, she said, “Stop. Listen.”

She put her hands on his cheeks and gazed at him for a moment. She could hear Raphael nearby, and knew he had to hear the other angel as well. He didn’t care. He was going to get himself sedated and the whole unstable tower would come crashing down. Unless… unless…

Fear and near-hysteria made her brave, if only for a moment.

“Show me you can calm the fuck down,” she breathed. “Do that, and I’ll find a way for you to keep fighting.”

He stared down at her for a long moment. Then he kissed her again, but delicately, tracing his tongue along where his teeth had left dents in her lip. When he finally lifted his head again and sat up, his eyes were once again black.


	27. 20: Morning Stars

The Red Queen’s pod almost instantly put Piper into a doze that became a slow and fuzzy transition to Wonderland. It blurred and wavered around her at first, as phantasmagorical as an ordinary dream. It made Piper physically uncomfortable, like she needed to shift position and couldn’t.

“Stop fighting it,” said the Red Queen in her ear. “I’m tuning the process.”

It was so much like being told to stop squirming as a child that a shiver of awful tension passed through her. _This will only take that much longer if you wiggle_ , whispered the white-coated voice of memory.

The urge to squirm, fight, _escape_ grew even stronger—but memory kept her absolutely still until Wonderland at last acquired the solidity and realism she’d previously experience.

She sat, her legs curled under her, on the green turf. The dead sapling still marred the garden, but the angelic orchestra had once again calmed down. A third channel had joined Anahel’s shattered marble canal and Ashmedai’s rocky stream: a narrow, deep crack. When Piper peered into it, she saw both that the water from her fountain had been sealed off by a gate of the same material as the crack, and that shadowy flames flickered down in the depths.

Thoughtfully, she scooped some of the water and drizzled it down to the flames. When they blazed high, consuming the water as if it was gasoline, she nodded to herself before returning to looking around. “Are you here, Your Majesty?”

Once again the Red Queen spoke in her ear. “I’m with you, but I’m no more able to view Wonderland as you and the angels do than I was before. Please search for the manifestation of your future bond with Twelve; it’s there I think your aid will matter the most.”

Obediently, Piper circled her fountain, although initially her attention was distracted by the future untidiness she expected as she formed bonds to other angels. The hub and spoke design was _functional_ but she didn’t like the default growth pattern at all.

“Well?” asked the Red Queen, jolting her out of her brooding.

“Oh!” Piper looked around and finally noticed a depression that might be the beginning of a channel. “This, maybe? But they don’t normally form so slowly, do they?”

“Yet another new experience you bring us, Miss Jones. Although forming the bonds with new incarnations is always tricky, since it has to be created before there’s something to bond with. Tell me what you see.”

Piper walked along the depression, from the fountain to the green border. The supposed channel was barely more than a indentation in the turf, but at the far end, a single golden spark bobbed sleepily. “It’s more like a footpath than anything else. And… is this part of Twelve? Or somebody else. One?” Piper guessed.

The spark muttered, plucked strings under the voice, “That foreigner… Number one indeed…”

“Part of Twelve. Perhaps you can attract the rest of his attention while you work.”

Piper regarded the mote dubiously, and then looked back up the track. “What do you want me to do?”

“Dig the channel.”

Her stomach dropping, Piper swallowed. But she’d done such things in the real world before. Hard labor, but not anything she’d normally shy away from. And yet…

As brightly as she could, dreading the answer, she said, “All right. Can you give me any tools?”

“Tools?” The Red Queen paused. “You should be able to manifest what you need. Can’t you?”

“Uh.” Piper held out her hand and thought hard about shovels. Nothing happened. “Not really.”

“Ah.” The Red Queen’s subsequent silence made Piper twist her hands together. “Well, I’ll send what I can but it won’t last. Just… do your best.” And in the Red Queen’s voice, Piper heard a familiar note of disappointment and dismissal.

She set her jaw. “If I’m not going to be useful here, wouldn’t it bet better to let me out?”

“Miss Jones, even my mind boggles at the thought of what mischief you’d cause if I let you run around unsupervised for the next twelve hours. Here, do what you can with these before they fade.” A pile of tools shimmered into existence on the nearby turf, each one looking blocky and toy-like.

Piper ignored the tools as outrage chased the anxiety away. “What do you mean, _mischief_? I’m not just here as your pawn—”

“Right now _everybody in the Ark_ is my pawn, even the knights and rooks. _Everybody_ except for the pieces you’ve knocked off the board. Now, you can sulk and rant as much as you please, or you can try to be helpful. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Will trying and failing _mean_ anything?” asked Piper, sarcasm tinging her words.

The Red Queen didn’t answer, and Piper didn’t really blame her. She could imagine the little headshake and the mark on a tablet all the same.

“It means you failed.” The single Twelve-mote spoke with more awareness than its previous muttering. “And thus nothing at all. While normally I would despise such weakness, in this case it’s only expected. How could you be otherwise?”

Piper scowled and trudged up the little depression to where the pile of toy tools awaited her.

* * *

Ashmedai sat back, but the intensity of his dark gaze kept Rain pinned to the couch. He’d suppressed his more aggressive aspect, but Ashmedai was still Ashmedai, no matter the color of his eyes.

_But I am not a proper person, even at my best._

Her heart hammered in her chest, fear of what she’d just promised twisting her stomach. When she tried to speak, she couldn’t seem to make her voice work.

Raphael moved into sight at the corner of her eye. As if she hadn’t been hovering there, she said, “Ah, there you are. Your injuries must be tended, Ashmedai.”

“In a moment,” he said, without taking his gaze off Rain. “How? Keep fighting how?”

Rain dragged her eyes away from his and pushed herself up, self-consciousness forming the froth on the sea of her fear. She adjusted her shirt and the tangible memory of his body against hers rose up, whispering that it would be so much easier just to take him back to his own room and give into her most basic urges.

Imagining that made her shiver. When he shifted his leg to bump against hers, she drew herself away, wrapping her arms around herself. Once again, she tried to speak, and this time she managed half a voice. “When Piper goes to Jabberwocky. You stay here to defend.”

“Yes. But how?” His eyes drilled into her, and she wished he would just see what she knew. She’d avoided him for so long because she’d been afraid that too much contact with him would somehow make him aware of the bonding potential. Clearly that wasn’t true and _god_ how she wished it was right now. She wished he could just _know_ , and _demand_ , _insist_ she Anchor him, that he’d do everything she was ever afraid of, so she didn’t have to struggle through her own fear to _volunteer_.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t simply tell him. Every time she tried to put the words together, her ability to imagine the future simply whited out. She couldn’t throw herself into that terrifying singularity. Maybe Malachai would do it for her—but that would be very bad too.

Licking her lips nervously, she said, “Hey, I said I’d figure it out, not that I knew the answer.” As his brows drew together, she added, “I figured out harder problems during the first incarnarium, after all,” and prayed devoutly that he wouldn’t ask for examples.

“Oh,” he said, and that was all. But as Raphael began to fuss over him, he kept staring at Rain, moving the minimum required to acquiesce to the healer’s requests.

Rain shifted positions, looking down at her hands curled on her legs. She could still feel his gaze on her, so she got up and tidied up the game paraphernalia she’d left lying around. Then she straightened the magazine stack she’d disordered, keenly aware of how his head swiveled to track her movement.

Finally, Raphael said, “That should be enough, assuming you feel no unusual pain.”

Ashmedai gave a creaky, bitter laugh. “Nothing you can help with. Thank you, Raphael.”

Rain darted a quick look at him as Raphael retreated to the door, and was once again pinned by his gaze. Something burned in his eyes. He said, “Thinking hard?”

Rain swallowed. “Yes, I am.”

“Liar,” he said softly, moving toward her. She tried to back away, but there was a shelf right behind her. But he didn’t reach for her, and stopped before he invaded her personal space. “You’re very still when you’re thinking, stormy. You look up, just a little, like there’s something written on a sky only you can see.” He lifted a hand, moving it as if tracing a curve. “The line of your neck…”

His hand dropped as his words faded out, but he continued to stare at her. She didn’t understand the expression on his face, the way his brows were drawn together and his mouth twisted a little.

Fear compressed into a flare of acid. “Well, it’s a little hard to concentrate when you’re staring at me all the time. I keep wondering if I turned blue or something.”

“You’re cruel,” he said simply. “I really believed you for a few moments. But you—”

Stung beyond reason, Rain said, “I’m not! I meant it.”

He gave her a bleak smile and spread his hands. “All right. Do it, then. Hack me open, work your magic. Unchain me.”

Once again, Rain opened her mouth and fear swept her words away.

* * *

Piper swore loudly as another of the Red Queen’s conjured shovels shattered into dust just as she put her weight on it. It was the fourth one she’d used up, and she’d accomplished next to nothing on the channel.

The Twelve-mote drifting near her made a disapproving sound. “Graceless _and_ weak. I wonder why I saw such potential in you originally.”

Collapsing on the dent in the ground, Piper wiped away sweat she knew wasn’t real and glared at the mote. She’d felt so comfortable around him the first time she’d come to Wonderland, but that had vanished. His disappointment frustrated her too much. “You could just shut up and go away.”

The mote only hummed a little tune in response, bobbing from side to side as if swinging. Then it said, “You’re weak, that’s all. It won’t matter once I’m incarnated. You don’t need to be strong. All you need to do is obey me.”

Piper tilted her head back on the grass, staring up into the blue sky and remembering all the tests she’d failed growing up. Being marked offlist after list, waiting for the lab session to end, bored and lonely and grieving for her grandmother afresh each time. Trying so hard to be more, to be _worth_ something.

She was so angry at who that had turned her into, and yet here she was again: stuck, failing, a disappointment. No longer even trying. Her efforts were not just futile, they were _unnecessary._ The Red Queen had given her busywork, like handing a child a coloring sheet after putting them in a playpen.

Another pile of unreal toy tools materialized near her. The babysitter had checked in and distributed more ’entertainment.’ Piper ignored it and rolled onto her stomach, looking at the grass instead. Each blade had a reality that none of the tools even approached. She could smell it, probably taste it.

The Twelve-mote mused, “It is interesting, though, the ways in which you fail. I’d expected otherwise.”

“You and everybody else,” muttered Piper, and grimaced as Malachai’s face passed through her mind. She didn’t know what _he_ expected from her, so he didn’t count.

“Try again to summon your own tools,” commanded the mote, darting over to her. “I will observe more closely.”

“Great,” said Piper. She rolled over again and waved a hand listlessly at the sky. “Shovel, appear!”

Instead of a shovel, the Twelve-mote dropped on her nose. “A studied insult. Perhaps I expected too much from one who would be my handmaiden. Thus burns away amicability.”

She sat up and shook her head, but the glow clung to her nose. Trying to see it made her head hurt. “Go away! I didn’t insult you and I’m not going to be your handwhatsit.”

“Please,” said the mote, cold and bored. “You will not claim you made a sincere effort to summon a tool that would fall and strike you. You aren’t that stupid.”

Piper, who had been thinking about how to flick the mote off her nose, froze and then tucked her hands behind her back. “I knew it wouldn’t work. That’s not the same as not trying.”

“It’s exactly the same as not trying,” countered the mote distantly. It zipped off her nose to float a few feet away, circling fast enough to make a glowing loop. “How disappointing that you turned out to be like this. That I should be forced to rely on such dross! Well, you can be a serving wench even if you can’t be a handmaiden.” The mote stopped suddenly, flaring like an eye in darkness. “At least, I hope so. Anything lower would be unacceptable.”

Piper gave an incoherent cry of frustration and sprang to her feet. She seized the blocky pickaxe provided by the Red Queen and struck the proto-channel with it. “I never asked for any of this!”

“Would it matter if you had?” The mote so rarely asked a direct question that Piper stopped mid-swing, thinking about what she had—and hadn’t—asked for in the recent years of her life.

Slowly, she said, “I don’t know.” Did she even know how to ask for something for herself?

The mote split into two and the pair came to spiral around a tendril of her hair. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

* * *

The look in Ashmedai’s eyes froze Rain. It was the look of somebody who had thought she was something else, and who was now seeing the small, mean truth. She recognized it from looking in the mirror.

“I’m working on it,” she managed to say. “I really am. I just need time.”

Ash gave her a twisted smile. “Of course, stormy. What can I do to help?” Sarcasm laced his words, but she knew he was being sincere, too. Then the sarcasm sharpened. “Ah, I know. No doubt you wish me to _leave you alone_ , correct?”

Rain clutched at her hair. “I did! But I said I’d help you, and I will. Unless you’ve changed your mind about preferring me to all of your other toys? If you _want_ to go off and bother somebody else—”

Momentary amusement passed over his face, and was then swallowed up by the bitterness. “Oh no. You’re the first to state so clearly your intention to _fix me_. I must see how this plays out.”

She had the sense of sinking deeper into a nightmare, and she could see the razor spikes at the bottom. “I’m not—” Her words dried up again.

Unthinking, desperate to get past this, she stepped forward and made as if to shove him in the chest. He caught her wrist before she touched him, in a grip like iron. “No, not like that, stormy. Not now.”

Flustered at what he’d thought she meant, clinging to that, she said, “No! I just think we should… go do something. Walk. Run. Play basketball. Something.” As he released her hand, she added, “I’m seriously not going to figure anything out with you staring at me constantly.”

He looked her up and down, taking in her lack of height. “I don’t think you’ll figure anything out playing basketball either.”

“Whatever,” she snapped, and took a deep breath. She could feel a complete meltdown waiting in the wings, and she couldn’t afford to give into it. “Let’s go look for Malachai. Hide and seek is always fun.”

“Why?” he demanded, his voice roughening.

“Because I want to beat him up.”

“Oh,” he said, brightening. “Well. I do like that idea. Perhaps I can help. Surely nobody would complain if I was simply supporting you.”

A flicker of deep, genuine amusement seared through Rain’s fear and she almost smiled before she caught herself. “We won’t actually find him,” she warned. “He cheats at hide and seek.”

“From what I’ve heard, you cheat too.” He stepped back and she followed him out of the lounge.

“Mmf,” she said noncommittally. “That’s on the forbidden topic list.”

“Yes. I know.” He didn’t press, which allowed her far too much time for her thoughts as they walked along.

She’d cheated a lot in the First Incarnarium. She’d cheated, and lived, and others had died. She could never, ever forget how Haruka had died, bleeding from her eyes, so Haruka’s angel could cleave through the guardian of the final gate. The Anchor shouldn’t have had to die that way. Wouldn’t have had to if Rain had been faster and smarter.

It was an old thought and an old pain, one she knew was irrational. People had died in the First Incarnarium. Too many, but she’d done her best at the time; she’d mattered; she’d made a difference.

But she’d also watched two Anchors die after bypassing the limits of their void augments. She hated herself for letting it happen, and she _couldn’t_ put herself in their shoes. She couldn’t. She didn’t want to die like they had. It was cowardly and dishonorable, but she’d never been anything else. She’d _mattered_ , but as a sneak and a liar and a cheat. She’d been terrified the whole time. The blinding fear that haunted her now was an old friend from the bad times. She’d never, ever been able to talk about it.

It drove her forward, lengthening her stride. She couldn’t escape it, but she could act through it, sometimes. This time… this time the words wouldn’t come again, and how could she do this without them? At some point, she had to communicate. If only she could force words the same way she could force action.

She stopped abruptly, looking at Ashmedai. He paced ahead of her a few steps before turning to look back at her. “Something occurs?”

Absently she began to gnaw on her thumbnail. “Maybe. Let’s go to the Red Queen’s workshop.”

* * *

Piper spent what felt like hours using up the Red Queen’s conjured tools, at the end of which she’d scraped a very respectable channel into the turf stretching from her fountain to the shrub wall where it went into greater Wonderland.

Well, a channel, anyhow. Water could _probably_ flow down it without simply spilling over the lawn.

She’d _tried_ , at least. She had the sweat and weariness to prove it.

Twelve had lingered, humming, as she’d thrown herself into the work. He’d stopped criticizing her, which left her with surprisingly mixed feelings. On some level, she’d liked the expectation that she could have done better. But she’d done her best and she craved acknowledgement of that, too. She wanted her best to be _good enough_.

After stretching her back, she dropped the last remaining shovel from the most recent tool delivery and looked through the break in the hedge at the rocky path where the rest of the stream would go.

“Do I have to dig out that, too?” she asked.

“Oh no,” said the motes. “That would be even more of a waste of time.”

A chill passed through Piper, and her hands went cold. She tucked them under her arms as she slowly turned to look at the motes. “More of a waste of time?”

“Than the tantrum you’ve been having,” explained Twelve serenely.

For a moment, Piper felt like outrage had set her head on fire. “I’ve been digging your damn channel!”

“Please. You’ve spent hours creating a trench. A very _shallow_ trench. Do you really think such is suitable for the likes of me? Gold and worked stone are required at the very least.” The two motes spun around each other slowly, as if Twelve wasn’t very engaged by the conversation.

Piper wondered if she could catch and squash just one of the motes. How much would really be lost if she did? “Well, what you’re getting is a trench.”

“Stubborn girl.” The motes spiraled against each other. “The Red Queen has a bad habit of turning live situations into experiments. She tries to prepare remedies for failures, but she can only do so much, poor thing. _This_ experiment seemed necessary, but alas, success and failure don’t evaluate need.”

With a scowl and a wave of her hand, Piper said, “Necessary? Hah!” Then doubt struck her. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry, little one. In the end, the Red Queen will force the connection. No matter who else falls, you’ll be safe with me.” Almost contemptuously, Twelve added, “That’s what matters to you, after all.”

She didn’t quite understand what Twelve was talking about, but the motes’ words conjured vague images of the Ark overrun, of injuries like Raphael’s bringing down everyone, of Sammael once again destroying her future.

Tugging her hat down over her ears, she muttered, “I don’t know what you _want_. I dug a channel, even with these terrible tools. I worked as hard as I could.”

The motes darted toward her. “Summon your own tools. This is your garden, after all.”

“How does any of this _help?”_ she demanded.

Drifting apart, the motes said, “It doesn’t.”

Piper pulled her hat off and threw it at the motes. It passed right through one of them, as if it was only an illusion. “Then how is it necessary? None of this makes sense.”

But Twelve didn’t answer, returning to humming a little tune. With a sigh, she collapsed onto the grass. After a moment, she rolled over and reached out for her hat. She didn’t know why it had gone through the motes. Like the grass, and unlike the Red Queen’s tools, it was vividly real. She knew every wrinkle and fold; the contents of every tiny pocket, even the ones that only had a bit of grit.

Her hand froze before she grabbed the hat as she realized she could see the faint bulge of the acorn tucked in one pocket. Her breath hissed through her teeth and she snatched the hat, rolling to her feet.

She followed the curve of the garden until she came to the withered sapling she’d planted. Staring down at it, she squeezed the acorn from out of the hat’s pocket. It rolled into the palm of her hand, dry and burnished brown. It’d never grow in real life; it was far too old and dry. She’d known that when she planted it, but that hadn’t seemed very important in the context of the dreamlike Wonderland.

Clearly she’d been right. And _that_ didn’t seem as important right now as the acorn itself, though. Slowly she knelt down, still looking at it and thinking about her hat.

A mote darted over to her, joined by two more. “Will you replant it?”

“Hush,” she said absently. “I’m thinking.” She tossed the acorn and caught it a few times. “Not yet. I think I’d like Anahel to do it later.” Thoughtfully, she tossed it into the grass, watching as it rolled through blades to stop near the sapling.

Then she pulled another copy of the acorn from the hat. It was exactly the same, and it planted a seed of excitement within her. Holding it tightly in one hand, she held out the other and did her best to remember the hoe she’d used all through her apprenticeship: the way the smoothed wood felt against her palms, the heft of it, the way it bit into weeds when the blade had been properly sharpened.

Nothing happened, and as nothing continued happening, the uncurling excitement within her stilled but didn’t wither. Frowning, she stretched out on the grass again, holding the acorn up to examine more. The three motes of Twelve came to spiral around her finger and thumb.

“You thought that would work this time.”

Piper scoffed. “That would have been too easy.” She thought about Twelve’s query if she’d be acting differently if she’d chosen all this. She would, she realized. She’d been doing her best within the context that she’d found herself, but she couldn’t help feeling constantly judged and tested. They wanted her to live up to standards she couldn’t understand, let alone achieve. Historically when she’d tried hard and failed, she’d been left alone. Sad, yes. Lonely, yes. Safe, predictable, and small, too.

For just a moment, she tried to let herself dream. To imagine herself strong and powerful and victorious.

It _hurt._ It hurt like stretching unused muscles, and she let go of the effort after only a brief vision of herself saving the Ark. But the excitement sprouting in her grew a little more.

She ought to stop. Remember what she was. Reaching for what she couldn’t have only led to falling on her face.

“I felt that,” said Twelve, quietly. Four motes arranged themselves around the acorn between her fingers.

“I didn’t do anything,” Piper protested, sitting up again.

“You knocked on a door, and then ran away.”

“I mean, I understand about the conjuring now. Anahel didn’t give me any old watering can. She gave me one of hers, something she knew well. Like I know my hat and my acorn. But I… I don’t think I know any tools for building a channel that vividly.”

“I can see I need to accustom myself to your tendency to do things backwards. Very well, carry on. Don’t let me stop you.”

“You said I was wasting my time,” she pointed out.

“You can be a very tedious child,” the motes agreed. “But I’ve been waiting a long time. A little bit longer, a little bit shorter, it doesn’t matter to me.”

She looked at the sad little trench she’d dug. All of the Red Queen’s tools had vanished completely, without replacements. That seemed… fitting, somehow. The channel was incomplete, nonfunctional, but she couldn’t escape the little dream that she still somehow had the means within her. It was a tiny dream, as small as Twelve’s motes, far too small to squash entirely. Imaginary, really.

But where was it? Or what? She couldn’t summon her own tools. What else could she do? Plant a row of acorns? Fill the garden with copies of her hat? Will the grass to pull itself from the ground and carry dirt away?

She dropped the acorn, rose to her feet and poked restlessly at her fountain, letting the cold water-like substance run through her fingers. When she tasted them, the liquid even tasted like the water from the tap in her old flat. She splashed it at the motes and at the channel, spraying it everywhere, keeping an eye on Twelve as she did.

The motes neither reacted obviously, nor commented, but she noticed there were five now. Once again, the internal tendril of excitement grew. It was stupid, illogical. She was accomplishing nothing. She couldn’t even claim to be _working hard_. She was _playing._

 _And why not?_ What else was there to do?

She pulled off her shoes and socks and then waded in the pool to the central stone. It was a little more than half her height, made of rough, dark granite. She ran her fingers through the bubbling water at the top. Then she tried to scramble on it. But it was as slippery as a real rock covered with real water would be, and she fell off twice. As she tried a third time, she looked up and saw six motes circling above, zig-zagging sparks against the blue sky.

She wedged her toes against the rock and tried again. The stone scraped against her ankle, leaving behind a brief sear of pain that she ignored. She circled the rock, and tried from a different angle, and fell flat on her bottom in the pool. She growled and kicked the stone with her heel, before rising to her feet again and throwing herself at the stone yet again.

“What will you do when you get to the top?” asked Twelve, with a hint of real interest.

“I don’t know,” said Piper. “Something else. Survey my domain. Climb a stairway to the sky. Dance. Fall on my ass again.”

“ _Ah,”_ said Twelve. “I like the sound of this. Go on.”

“Oh, go play in your trench. I’m not doing this for _you_.” She studied the rock, and then changed her approach. Instead of climbing, she worked on jumping, throwing herself at the rock hoping to get high enough to not slide down.

“This is so stupid,” she mumbled as she slid down. “I’m not accomplishing anything.” But she _could_ get up there, she knew. It was just a matter of trying enough. It was _her rock_. Of course she could get up there.

And finally, she did. Her jumping and her scrambling and the flow of the water and the shreds of her nails and her momentum all combined so that in one startling moment, she had her torso over the top of the rock, her legs still dangling down.

For a moment, she was paralyzed with surprise. Then the wild triumph of the playground came over her. She finished scrambling up, rose carefully on her knees and shouted in wordless cheer. “Haaaah!”

The six motes encircled her silently. She looked over at the pathetic trench she’d made, feeling the difference in the effort she’d made there and the effort she’d made here. The same kind of muscle work, but inside… it had been different. That had been productive, even if Twelve didn’t think so, and this had been an utter waste of time, but she felt _good_ about this. She felt satisfied. It made no sense.

She caught one of the motes in her hand and the others encircled her wrist. “What is going on, Twelve? You told me there was no point to me trying and failing. But you were one before and now you’re six.”

“Did I say that? How curious.”

Piper frowned, trying to remember the motes’ exact words.

_“It means you failed.” The single Twelve-mote spoke with more awareness than its previous muttering. “And thus nothing at all.”_

She chewed on her lip as a new interpretation of Twelve’s words unfolded for her. Suddenly her mind felt crowded with ideas: arguments and counter-arguments with herself. Failure had a cost—and yet was the cost of _trying_ any different for failure than success? What was the cost of success? What was the difference between really trying and just faking it to get along, when sometimes faking it was enough for success?

Shaking her head, she rose unsteadily onto her feet, balancing carefully on the rock. This was too much to think about right now. She needed time to let her experience settle. “What do you want me to do, Twelve?”

“Crack yourself open, drain your hollow soul of its leaden poison and polish yourself shining with the soft gold of dreams,” said Twelve promptly. “Make of yourself a vessel worthy of me. Crack now, or shatter later.”

Piper stared at her bracelet of motes, taken aback. “I…. I don’t know how to do that.” She thought of how her little daydream had hurt. “Not the draining, or the polishing parts anyhow.”

“Show me what you _can_ do, then.”

Nothing moved in the garden, except the water over Piper’s toes. Even the light breeze had died away.

“All right,” she said, and took a deep breath. Then she launched herself from the stone, leaping for the edge of the pool, envisioning herself going farther, landing in the grass, turning a cartwheel, coming up laughing. Imagined Twelve praising her, and the Red Queen saying something like ‘Good job.’ Leapt and _reached_.

She landed at the inside edge of the pool, jarring her feet, and teetered before falling over the rim onto the grass, landing on her side, feeling the sting of her feet and shins, and the grass against her face.

The jar she’d felt when she landed kept going. The world trembled around her. Everything shook, and it _hurt_ as something inside her cracked open. Sound rushed around her: static and voices and horns and a wild laugh.

She sat up and the buckling ground settled down. Twelve motes spun in a vertical circle before her, and beyond them, her sad trench had transformed into a gold-inlayed canal, shallow and broad, with detailed patterns along the bed.

“Well done,” said the Red Queen.

* * *

“Actually,” said Rain, twisting her fingers as plans raced through her head. “Why don’t you go grab that shower and change clothes. I’ll meet you in the workshop.”

He looked down at himself. “Ah, yes. You said I was disgusting, didn’t you?” When he glanced up, the dark amusement that flickered in his eyes made her fingers clench together hard.

“Don’t tell me you _like_ being that dirty.”

With a chuckle, he said, “No, no, I’m the tidy one. Won’t you come along?”

Rain’s breath hissed between her teeth as she got the response she’d originally expected. “No, I want to talk to Her Majesty.”

“Fine, fine,” he said, but he lingered to give her a long look before he finally walked the other direction.

Rain wondered what had been behind the look but she didn’t let speculation slow her down. As soon as he was out of sight, she _ran_ all the way to the Red Queen’s workshop. She burst into an apparently empty room, although several clouds of nano machines swarmed around the pod containing Piper and the opaque tube used to construct angelic bodies.

“Hey!” she called, and then caught herself and lowered her voice to an indoor volume. “Did you do the thing?”

A palm-sized version of the Red Queen manifested, frowning at her. “What thing?”

Rain blew out her breath and dragged in another one. It did nothing. to help the butterflies in her stomach. “Please don’t. You know what I’m talking about.”

The miniature Red Queen tapped her cheek with her knuckles. “I think I ought to hear you say it, though.”

Her lips tightly compressed, Rain shook her head.

The Red Queen’s frown deepened. “Rain, if you can’t even talk about it, this isn’t going to be healthy for you.”

“None of this is healthy for me! Not spending time with him, not Jabberwocky’s Rex in my dreams, not Rainbow collapsing, not Piper dying!”

Crisply, the Red Queen said, “Piper is perfectly safe and will probably remain that way even if the rest of us fall.”

But that didn’t negate the vision in Rain’s mind’s eye of Piper dying in her arms after Rain had been too cowardly to accept her responsibility at the time.

She gulped around something hard in her throat. “Please, Your Majesty. Don’t make me argue you into this. I won’t. I’m not strong enough.”

“There were times when you were the strongest of all of us, Rain,” said the Red Queen. One of the console monitors along the wall activated, showing the tumbling pawn icon that represented the Looking Glass Anchor-angel matching software.

Her fingers felt so cold. She was going to do this. Why? Why? Because if she didn’t, Malachai would force it? Because Ashmedai wasn’t quite the monster she’d thought he was? Because she’d probably die—or worse, if the whisperings of the Rex meant anything—if she didn’t?

All of that. None of that. She was going to do it because she _could_ do it and it _needed_ to be done, and that was how it had always been with her. The Red Queen talked about Rain’s so-called strength, but it was always terror, not strength. She couldn’t ever _talk_ when frightened, but she could _do._

She pushed her thoughts down, embraced the non-thinking that had walked her past enemies in the dark, and moved to the console. As she lifted her hand to it, the Red Queen said, “He’s in the shower right now.”

“I suppose this will make it a memorable one,” said Rain, and slapped her hand on the screen. The device scanned her Warp circuit waveform, matched it with her personal record—long excised from the database but now re-enabled by the Red Queen—and scanned the records of incarnated and Wonderland angels. A few faded images appeared: angels she could barely synchronize with. And then Ashmedai’s profile burst across the screen, and a pleasant chime sounded.

“Match found,” said the Red Queen, and Rain told herself the AI didn’t _actually_ sound sad. That was too implausible to be believed from the pragmatic personality.

Rain slid down the side of the console to sit on the floor, and put her head in her hands to wait for her doom. A few minutes passed before he arrived. The door slid open and she could smell his shampoo from across the room. She glanced up, saw he’d taken time to dress properly but that his hair was still dripping.

“What’s going on?” he said. “I felt the Looking Glass activate and…” He looked down at Rain inquisitively, his face curiously calm.

She’d expected him to be happier, more excited. She looked away rather than answer.

Dryly, the Red Queen said, “In a shocking twist, Rain is highly compatible with being your Anchor.”

“Hmm,” he said, and moved to stand before Rain. “Hey, why are you sitting down there?” He smiled, but there was something reserved in his eyes. “Not the cheating I expected. But very convenient. I’m not entirely sure I believe it.”

Rain’s hands curled into fists. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. I said I’d fix it, didn’t I? If you don’t like it…”

He gazed down at her, and then reached out his hand.

A sudden burst of panic rolled through her and she sprang to her feet, ducking around him. “Don’t touch me! Not until I’ve had the void augment installed.” She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. Her hands, previously cold, were now sweaty. “I should go get Raphael on that.”

He turned, following her with his gaze. A smile curved his mouth. “What made you suspect?”

Suddenly her fear compressed into a sharp-edged diamond and her mind cleared. She _hated_ that smile of his, hated how smug he’d be if she let him believe whatever self-centered narrative he was constructing.

Brutally, she said, “I’ve known for a long time. Years. I didn’t cheat to make this happen. I _stopped_ cheating.”

His eyes widened and then narrowed. “No doubt due to the time we’ve been spending together. Did I slip past your defenses?”

“No!” Rain covered her ears and then paced in an angry circle. “I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you.” She couldn’t remember now why she’d decided to do this. He was dreadful. There was no way he’d ‘slipped past her defenses’.

She glanced up at him and realized with an almost physical shock that his eyes sparkled angrily and the smile that twisted his mouth was his psychopath’s smile.

What in the world did he have to be angry about? He was getting everything he wanted. But he stared at her like she’d attacked him, like she’d _hurt_ him, using the same words she’d been using all along.

“Raphael is ready for you now,” put in the Red Queen, her voice unusually quiet.

“Thanks,” said Rain, and flung herself out of the workshop.

* * *

“The angel has to form the connection,” explained the Red Queen to Piper in Wonderland. “I needed you to interest him enough to do it.”

“I don’t understand at all,” grumbled Piper, but she was secretly pleased. “What do you normally do?”

“Oh, Alice helps in her own way—but it’s natural for her. Your gift isn’t attracting the affection of the angels. It’s talking to them. But if we’d had the time, the normal process would have done the job in a far more mechanical way.”

“Only if I’d allowed it,” said Twelve regally.

“I thought you wanted out of here,” said Piper tartly. “Why all the fuss?”

“I needed to know if you could be worthy of me, or if you were a cheap clay vessel that would shatter as soon as I exerted myself.”

“And you’re satisfied now?”

“You have… potential. With my attentions, you may yet unlock it. And you’ve just enough rough charm to keep me entertained.”

“Oh my god,” mumbled the Red Queen. “Piper, if you’re ready to emerge, we can get a few things out of the way and decant the new world order over there.”

“You’ll learn my name soon enough, little Queen.”

“All right,” said Piper hurriedly. “Get me out of here.”

Without further warning, darkness fell over Piper’s perception. She opened her eyes in the red dimness of the pod. A few seconds later, the top half opened and she sat up.

Piper looked round, getting her bearings. A palm-sized Red Queen stood on a console, with Ashmedai and Malachai on opposite sides of the room. She could feel the sharp-edged chaos from Malachai, exactly as he’d been when she saw him last… and she had new thoughts about that… but Ashmedai distracted her almost immediately.

He was staring at the floor, even after her pod opened, and even more intimately than she could sense Malachai, she could feel Ashmedai’s deep hurt. It reminded her of immediately after he’d fallen in battle with Sammael, but while that had felt like an angry sulk, this felt… worse.

She rose from the pod and went to him. He glanced up at her approach. “Piper.” His mouth twisted wryly. “I’m not your problem anymore. Rain’s matched me.”

Piper studied him. “You’re a lot more upset than I would have expected at that news.”

“She matched me a long time ago.” He put his hand on Piper’s head and repeated, “I’m not your problem anymore. You’ll have new problems soon.”

Piper felt the warmth of his hand, saw the dampness on the collar and shoulders of his t-shirt, and understood more than she could explain. “Does bonding with Rain erase our own bond?”

Ashmedai looked puzzled. “No?”

She flicked him in the chest. “Good. I’m looking forward to being your friend instead of a disappointment.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, his brow furrowing. Then his gaze went over her shoulder and his expression smoothed into something distant and controlled.

The Red Queen announced, “Ashmedai, Raphael is on her way here, and Rain is recovering from the installation procedure. You can join her when you’re ready.”

“Ah. Thank you, Your Majesty.” He ruffled Piper’s hair while looking at Malachai over her shoulder, and then left the workshop very quickly.

Piper exhaled slowly, feeling Malachai standing right behind her. She remembered how she’d wanted something more with Malachai and cursed herself for it. She’d been so disappointed by his _management_ of her. By realizing that for all his kisses, he didn’t see her as a rational adult.

She also remembered her sense of victory in Wonderland: at doing something meaningless, and at doing something backward and getting to the goal all the same. With a deep breath, she turned around. He stood a few feet behind her, looking at her intently. His brown hair curled around his friendly eyes, but he didn’t have any of his usual smiles.

She blew out her breath again. He looked so damn _harmless_. As cute as the boy next door, with the promise of laughter in the lines of his face. So _harmless_ , but she’d never believed that, not even for a moment. She’d always liked his smiles, though.

“Piper…” he began, and then stopped, his eyes widening as she stepped toward him.

Carefully, she took his gloved right hand, his long sleeve going right down to his wrist, and began to tug the glove off, finger by finger. When she glanced up, he was staring at her with such dilated eyes that she looked down again quickly, focusing on her task. Belated it occurred to her she could have just put her hand on his face, rather than removing a piece of his clothing without warning. But better to keep going than stop in embarrassment, right?

As soon as she pulled the glove off, she laced her fingers within his and looked up at him again as the sense of the sharp-edged chaos behind his eyes faded, and he was just an attractive and friendly face.

“I’m angry at you,” she told him quietly. “Not because of any Jabberwocky influence. I don’t trust you. I wish I could, though. I wish I could get to know the real you.”

His voice was strained as he said, “Maybe it’s better if you don’t.” His thumb rubbed her hand.

“I want to,” she repeated.

He put his other hand, still gloved, against the side of her head. She could feel his breath on her face: her forehead, the side of her eye, her cheekbone, her jaw. “You want such bad things.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” She smiled. “Sometimes I get the job done my way. It may take a while—”

“Ahem,” said the Red Queen. “Piper, Ash hasn’t actually formed the bond with Rain yet, and he’s very patiently waiting in the corridor so he doesn’t fall down.”

“Oops! I didn’t realize,” said Piper, and stuffed the glove she still held in Malachai’s pants pocket as she tried to disentangle her hand. Malachai seemed unwilling to let go, though. “Um—”

With more than a little exasperation, the Red Queen said, “Mal, I’m not sure if this is some form of puberty or a demon’s nascent emotional awakening, but we’re under a time crunch and your touchy-feely attacks are going to have to wait. And here’s Raphael.”

The healer stepped into the workshop and said, “Malachai, _what_ are you doing?”

“Being good,” he said softly, and released Piper’s hand.

“Excellent! Raphael, if you’ll just join me here. Piper, you stand where he can see you. Malachai, I’d appreciate it if you’d be ready in case of anything unexpected. Even with Piper’s assistance, rushing this process has probably created some instabilities.”

“What’s going to happen?” asked Piper nervously, moving in the general direction the Red Queen had indicated.

“We’re going to decant Twelve from his tube. It’s a striking process even with well-behaved angels. There will be some visual effects but they should be harmless.”

“And his name will change?”

The Red Queen smiled. “They choose names when they’re incarnated. But Alice often forgets the names they choose and they don’t seem to mind.”

Piper bounced restlessly on her toes as the Red Queen turned her attention to a brief discussion with Raphael about some readouts. She could feel Malachai’s gaze on her from the other side of the room. She’d hoped to soften the sharp edges of his chaos, but he seemed even more on edge now. She wasn’t disappointed, though. She kept remembering the way his eyes had dilated when she’d taken off his glove. There was something real there, even if not even Malachai seemed to understand what it was.

The tube that the Red Queen had indicated as the decanting station hissed suddenly and mist billowed around it. As red and yellow lights flickered in a checkerboard pattern beneath the mist, the Red Queen announced, “Here we go. Piper, this may feel a little odd.”

The red and yellow lights flashed brightly, and Piper felt something she could only describe as a shout of glory pass through her, so strong it left her trembling. It wasn’t until after it had faded, leaving _awareness_ behind did she realize this was another bond being formed, and without any physical contact at all.

The mist faded around a tall, male figure, revealing brilliant golden hair and crimson eyes, in a scarlet and saffron robe that left little of his muscled physique to the imagination.

A smile moved across the arrogant, handsome face, and Piper recognized it somehow from Wonderland. Then the lights in the workshop flickered and dimmed dramatically. Distant fans stuttered and faded. The man lifted his hand and closed it into a fist and the lights went out entirely.

“Ahh,” he said, his voice rich and smooth.

And then the lights all came back on and the fans picked up again. The Red Queen said firmly, “Control yourself, Twelve. You can have one generator but not both.”

“Twelve?” Piper whispered, and his gaze went to her. The smile he gave her felt distinctly proprietary.

“Only my Anchor may refer to me by my Wonderland name,” he announced. “The rest of you will call me Lucifer.”

* * *

Rain sat alone in the infirmary on one of the beds, waiting for Ashmedai with her stomach churning. She stared at the purple mark on her hand. It bothered her so much, but Raphael had been pleased by the proposed partnership, and delighted by the anticipated sync rate. _“_ This will be safer for everybody.”

She’d had other, more personal opinions she hadn’t hesitated to offer. “You won’t need to depend on others to stop him from doing anything inappropriate, either.” She’d been so matter of fact. “If you need a daily recharge, well, we did construct the new generator. Don’t be afraid to force him to stop if you need to.”

And then she’d left to go help decant Twelve, leaving Rain to wait for Ashmedai all alone.

When he came in, she lowered her gaze, staring hard at her hand. Her fear, so senseless, so shameful, felt like a garrote strangling her. She couldn’t think of what she ought to do next to escape it, or work with it. She’d done everything she could, and now it was up to him.

He’d been angry at her.

He was _still_ angry at her. He came to her bed and said softly. “You really hate me that much.”

Frustration bubbled up, thick and hot as lava and she glanced up at him. “Did you think I was _lying_ when I said that?”

He bared his teeth. “I never understood why, and I had reason to believe things were a little more complicated than that. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? I understand now. You knew about this, and you didn’t want to be disturbed in your little hideaways. To hell with the world, yeah? To hell with me. But what if the time came when you had to face the truth? That was worth hating me over.” Rain’s shoulders slumped as he went on. “Now that time has come, and here we are. You hate me, storm cloud. And I think I may finally hate you too.”

He picked up her purple-marked hand, and she tensed for a connection that didn’t come. Instead, he kissed her knuckles slowly. “But you have the void augment now. I’m sure we’ll still manage to have fun.”

Rain twitched, but resisted the desire to hit or kick him. “I did what I said I’d do. So either shut up and form the bond, or go on the mission with Piper and leave us to rot.”

In response, he tilted her head up and kissed her, lightly, briefly. She felt moonshadow wings close around her, filling her senses with his spiky rage, with his affection for his home, with his fundamental duality.

And as she came back to herself, he whispered, “I’m looking forward to this.”


	28. Interlude 1: Leony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heading into a period of short chapters but I'll try to post them reliably weekly.

Godstorms didn’t move like normal storms, in response to air pressure changes and wind speed. The forces that drove them seemed random, to an untrained observer. Even to an experienced storm watcher, they weren’t entirely predictable, except in one way: they would always head toward a population center to expend their fury. An ordinary storm might rage anywhere, dropping its load of rain or snow in locations dictated more by geography than inhabitants. But godstorms were invariably drawn to _people._ The only mystery was _which people._

Leony Murata sat cross-legged in the yellow grass of the field outside a small city on the coast, under rolling clouds of pink and blue, her eyes half-closed as she skipped between the senses of her team. The godstorm had let itself be herded away from the major city up the river, but nothing Seir and the kids did deterred it from deciding to dump everything it had on this little city that had been almost entirely rebuilt since the Sammael Incident. And there was no time to work on moving it someplace safer. Through Leony’s connection with her angels, she could see that the heart of the storm had begun a transformation that hallmarked a threat classification upgrade.

The team, for all their quirks, had been working together for a long time and everybody pretty much knew their roles. Oriax and Seir went straight to the core of the storm, while Jofiel pulled the pathway open, Aria played defense against stray stormhounds and Leony kept everybody coordinated. Today’s eradication would have been everything that was routine, except—

Leony’s phone rang, buzzing in her hand with the ringtone from her kinda-boss that meant, ‘This is important.’ She weighed the possible importance of the call against the danger of the storm. As the phone stopped ringing and then began again, she sighed and untangled herself from her team’s minds with a silent explanation. Then she rose to her feet, answering the phone as she brushed off her denim-and-lace skirt.

“What’s up? Kind of in the middle of something here, man.” Out of habit, she tidied her white button-down blouse, smoothed her sleek dark brown hair, flicked on her sunglasses.

“Hey, Leony,” said Kado Balzac. “Have you heard from the Ark lately?”

Leony trudged over to the open door of their hover jet and kicked the dirt off her calf-high boots. “Nope. Not for days.” That alone wasn’t that unusual; the dispatched Anchor teams were fairly autonomous as long as they came in for their quarterly checkups. However—

“Hmm. How’s your Storm Chaser doing?” Kado didn’t sound surprised, and Leony wondered if she was in for a lecture about not communicating.

She patted the side of the jet as she climbed in. “The jet itself is fine, but the Red Queen’s pilot link has turned into her standee version.”

“Have you been hunting storms anyhow?” And there was the faint note of disapproval in Kado’s voice. He liked to act like he was chill, but he’d never really stopped thinking of Leony as a dumb kid.

“Hey, the Crimson Standee can handle the basics, and Seir is great at the more dangerous stuff.”

“Seir,” repeated Kado, before he sighed. “You and your death wish, kid.”

“I don’t have a death wish,” Leony said patiently. “Did you just call to lecture me or do you have anything to actually communicate? There’s an actual storm, right now, that Seir and the kids are taking down.”

“Where are you?”

“Uh.” Leony sat in the co-pilot’s seat and flicked through some data. The name of this little burg had passed through her mind exactly once without sticking around. “Sansorcha, on the west coast.”

“Right. I’m going to send Dantalion to you, because I’m in the middle of something here and there’s apparently a problem at home.”

Leony frowned. She had trouble imagining problems in Rainbow that her little team could have any impact on. That place was crammed full of bored, overpowered defenders… or at least it had been…

For the first time since what she’d assumed was some network problem had begun, real concern twisted at Leony, and she smoothed her hair again reflexively. “What about Ezra?”

Kado snorted. “Yeah, no. Just between you and me, sending in Ezra’s particular brand of chaos is my last resort in an unknown situation. I’ll be coming in behind you, but it might take me a day or so to get the local situation sorted out.”

“What are you dealing with? A major storm?”

“That was a couple days ago. Now… well, you’ll see, maybe. I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.”

“Asshole, don’t say things like that.” She stared out of the front of the plane, watching as the storm clouds started breaking apart. “What was that about Dantalion?”

“He’s here, he’s a little bit trashed, he blames Sammael, and, uh… yeah, okay, man, Sansorcha, you can find a map over there.” He spoke away from the phone a moment before coming back. “I imagine he’ll be there before you’re ready for him. He’ll debrief you on the situation.”

“ _Sammael?_ No, no, be mysterious,” said Leony, keeping her irritation out of her voice. “I love the suspense.”

“Yes, I know,” said Kado, with a flash of laughter in his voice. “You and Seir will enjoy this, at least.”

“What about the kids?” she asked sharply, her protective side loosening her control on her habitual cool. Jofiel was disconcertingly sturdy, but both Aria and Oriax could be fragile in the face of the unexpected.

He clicked his tongue. “Hey, they’re your team. I know you can handle them. Check in with me before you try to go back into Rainbow, all right?”

“Sure, sure.” Leony sighed as she disconnected. She trusted Kado with her life, but they’d never quite connected on their particular brands of gallows humor. Standing up, she glanced around the very lived-in interior of the jet and then shrugged. Dantalion didn’t notice things like that at the best of times, and it didn’t sound like that was now.

Instead, she went outside and reached out to her angels. “Seir, kids… finish up fast. We’ve got a new mission.”


	29. 21: Decision Fatigue

Rain dragged in a breath as the bond between her and Ashmedai settled into place and goosebumps rose on her skin. Nothing Leony or the other Anchors had ever told her had quite prepared her for this. Though he’d lifted his head, she could still feel his mouth on hers, and his wings around her. She could sense his rage and hurt, his loneliness, and the twisted pleasure he took in fighting.

He too seemed unsettled as his eyes widened and he stepped back. She had no idea why. She’d never been an Anchor before, but he’d experienced bonds with not just Alice and Piper, but also lesser bonds with Phil and Leony. It didn’t seem fair that he’d be as startled as she.

His mouth flattened. “You wanted this.”

“I did not,” she flared. “I just want to live more than I hate you.”

“Not the bond,” he said impatiently. “You’ve made that very clear. The lack of choice. You wanted to be forced into this.” His eyes narrowed. “You _want_ me to enjoy myself.”

Pulling her knees to her chest, Rain looked away. “Somebody should.”

“And you won’t let yourself?” She could hear a sneer in his voice. “Hah. I’ve been so cruel to you, haven’t I? An accident, I assure you.” He moved closer. “Then, anyhow.”

His hand dropped lightly on her head and he stroked down her hair to her back, before trailing his fingers lower. Delicately he traced her spine and once again goosebumps raised on her skin.

She didn’t lift her head from her knees, her eyes fluttering closed. The delicious heat of his hand radiated through her thin top as he followed the base of her ribcage along her side, his touch just bordering on the ticklish.

“Tell me when to stop,” he whispered.

She wondered how far he’d go on his own, and then wished the obvious answer to that didn’t make arousal rush through her body. That had started to seem acceptable back when he genuinely seemed to want to please her. Now… well… she’d make him stop when she needed him to.

Probably. She’d _probably_ make him stop. He _might_ listen. If all else failed, she could force him to with the void augment’s power.

As he stroked the soft side of her breast, she wondered how long such a forbidding lasted. Meanwhile, he parted the hair at her neck with his other hand and then kissed the skin he’d revealed, as he teased the lower slopes of her breast.

She dragged in a breath, her body softening irresistibly at the movement of his mouth and her mind still running distractedly. Even forcing him to stop once would probably bring aid.

As her body relaxed and she uncurled, his thumb and fingers caressed the tip of her breast and his mouth trailed along her jaw. She could hate him for this more later, oh yes, and hate herself, too—

“I’m almost tempted to send out the staff with guns instead,” announced the Red Queen. “No, no, that isn’t fair to them. You two can pick this up later. I need you outside again.”

Ashmedai lifted his head, listening to the Red Queen, but didn’t stop the small motion of his hand at her chest. For a moment her scattered thoughts were thick and slow and she wondered if whatever was going on could possibly wait a few moments—

—and then she processed what the Red Queen had actually said.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

“There’s a damned incarnarium trying to devour everything I’ve done over the past six years and Twelve just introduced himself as Lucifer, so I can safely say I’ve been better,” said the Red Queen tartly.

“Oh.” Rain pushed away Ashmedai’s hand and glanced up at him. He let his hand drop, staring down at her with a distant expression. Through their bond, she could feel how eager the thought of imminent combat made him.

Her mouth twisted. “Well, have fun.”

The Red Queen cut in immediately. “This is an investigation, Rain. I need you out there too. The structure of Rainbow is decaying _without_ obvious sign of interlopers.” She paused a moment. “In fact, I need you both to go out there and be as distracting as you can while investigating this. Yes, thinking of our enemy’s little biases, I suspect he’ll… Yes. Get out on the mountainside, now.”

With a sigh, Rain slid off the infirmary bed. “Fine.” She crossed her arms and walked out of the infirmary.

“Wait,” commanded Ashmedai. “She’s not going out dressed like that.”

Rain glanced back through the open door, puzzled.

Irritated, he gestured down her form. “Shorts. Tank top. You talking about how you can’t protect yourself. If you go out on the mountain with that much exposed skin, a harsh wind could injure you.”

“Fine,” said the Red Queen. “But hurry. Don’t get distracted.”

“I won’t,” said Ashmedai, his gaze fixed intently on Rain. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t either.”

And once again, Rain felt too emotionally drained to really argue, even if she could think of things to argue about. That had to be the explanation, she told herself. He was just being controlling, anyhow. Fuming quietly, she went to her room and put on heavy jeans and a sweatshirt while he waited in the hall. When she emerged, she met his gaze as he leaned against the wall and froze.

Naked anxiety ebbed from his face as he scanned her. He gave her the same little smile he’d given her last time she’d opened her door to find him in the hall. Then he seemed to remember that he was angry at her, hated her. His expression hardened.

“Rage at me after we deal with this, stormy. We’ll both be able to enjoy it more then.”

“In your dreams,” Rain snapped, and once again that small smile flickered over his mouth. She scowled. She didn’t want to like that expression. She wanted to smack it off his face, and she knew exactly what would happen if she tried, both now, and later.

“If I can get my hands on that Rex, I am going to personally murder him,” muttered the Red Queen, right before the floor shuddered as an earthquake trembled through the mountainside. “At least do this dance _outside_ where you can _distract him_ , please?”


	30. 22: Lemon Juice

Rain stepped out of the Ark onto the mountainside as a red twilight spilled across the land. Ashmedai, just ahead of her, stopped in the vestibule until she smacked his back. “Come on, get out of the way, I can’t see through you.”

Obligingly he moved forward and aside. “I see nothing but the remnants of previous battles.”

Rain moved from the roof to the ground, scanning the surrounding area. A trained eye could make out the scars of the recent assaults on the land but they weren’t obvious in the nearly barren landscape. A few places where the grass had been torn up. A scraggly bush stripped down to the stem. That was all.

A small swarm of motes followed them, and Rain addressed it. “Where did that earthquake originate?”

The Red Queen’s hollow, buzzy voice said, “I can give you the coordinates but they’re not nearby.”

Rain turned to look at Ashmedai expectantly. A wry smile stretched his face. “You trust me to carry you?”

Impatiently, she said, “You’re an asshole, not an idiot. Come on, the sun’s setting.”

Ashmedai laughed. “Yes, it is.” He spread his wings, bringing out his field of starry night. As a cool wind brushed her cheek, Rain looked up at the dazzling sky and then down. She didn’t want to be reminded of how beautiful it was.

“I’ll pick you up now,” said Ash, and she nodded once without looking up. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and half-cradling her as his great wings swept down. The ground dropped away but Rain hardly noticed, focusing in the lines of warmth where Ashmedai touched her. The Red Queen’s motes flattened against Ashmedai’s shoulder, giving him quiet directions.

It was hardly the first time she’d flown with an angel. Cassiel had carried her to the drop off point for more than one of her missions in Azure, the First Incarnarium. She wasn’t particularly afraid of heights. Flight was something she’d become used to. And yet… it was different with a bond to her transport. With Ashmedai. Even though he held her carefully, without taking advantage, it felt… intimate.

She was glad when they landed. Ashmedai held her a moment longer after touching down, until she squirmed. “Shh,” he said. “There’s something here…”

“I hope so,” said Rain. “Otherwise we’re wasting our time. Come on, put me down and let me look around while there’s sunlight.”

Her feet touched the ground but he took his time fully releasing her. She scowled up at him but he was still scanning the landscape. His wings faded and the field of night swept away like a curtain, revealing the early twilight.

Rain’s nose twitched as she smelled the floral scent of the Jabberwocky’s hallucinogen. “Yeah, something’s here.” But when the Red Queen’s swarm swept in front of her face, she batted it away. “No, stop. C’mon, what am I going to do, throw myself into his arms? Stop getting underfoot.”

The Red Queen said, “An acceptable answer. The epicenter of the earthquake is this area. I can detect nothing unusual, but I’ve always relied on Anahel to do close level structural analysis of Rainbow. Keeping track of all those plants and bugs and things.”

Slowly Rain paced around the area indicated, trying to ignore how sensitive she’d become to Ashmedai’s scent, and to the way he kept watch as she looked around. He might be prone to enjoying himself a little too much but he clearly took keeping her safe seriously. It bothered her. Everything about him bothered her.

Blowing out her breath, she crouched down, digging her fingers into the dirt. The floral hallucinogen scent was stronger closer to the ground, but casting about she quickly reached the limits of her nose’s sensitivity.

She rose, rubbed her nose and then walked over to Ashmedai. “You could smell Malachai earlier. Can you find the source of the floral scent?”

He looked down at her, his nostrils flared and his eyes more dilated than the light level indicated. His hand lifted, as if he meant to touch her hair, before he dropped it abruptly. “I’ll try. Stay close.”

Rain rolled her eyes. Even if the Red Queen was hampered in her close investigation of the mountainside, she’d be able to detect a new round of invaders. Even _Rain_ would be able to detect one of those big demons lumbering toward them.

But she followed Ashmedai as he walked back and forth, back and forth across the indicated terrain. Finally he stopped near where she’d stopped and crouched down. “Something here. But there’s nothing.”

She looked over his shoulder. Some flattened grass. Dirt. Pebbles. Nothing. But as Ashmedai stood up and turned toward her, she frowned and put her hand on his muscled arm. “Wait,” she said, her voice unusually husky. Irritated, she cleared her throat and pulled away. “Wait. I thought I saw something.”

Ashmedai shook his head. “I didn’t.” His hand settled on her hip.

The floral scent in her nose meant Rain couldn’t bring herself to brush him off. “Yeah, well, your job is killing things and mine is…” She caught herself. “Mine _used_ to be finding out secrets. And back in Azure, sometimes secrets were hidden in strange ways.”

She peered down at the ground again, thinking about some of those secrets. The floral scent in her nose and Ash’s hand burrowing under her sweatshirt to touch her skin both constituted _distractions,_ but knowing what was going on was a big help. And she wanted to solve this puzzle. Something had glinted on the ground as Ash crouched, just behind him. Something that had vanished as he stood.

He still had a glint of starlight over his shoulders, that hint of wings most of the angels had.

“Did you know that you can write a message with lemon juice that can only be read with blacklights? Leony and I used to play spies with Alice and Alexis using that, way back when.”

It was odd how easy it was to say Alexis’s name now, at least while talking about _before_ everything had gone to hell. It didn’t hurt the same way it used to. Everything else remained locked away where she could avoid thinking about it, but somehow this had slipped free. Rain didn’t know if that was good or bad. Somehow it seemed—

Ashmedai’s hand slid entirely under her shirt, curving around her waist, and she shook off the bad thoughts.

“I’ve read that,” he said, and revulsion trembled in his deep voice. “Why are you remembering that now? Why are you remembering _her_?”

Rain gave him a painful grin. He’d never known Alexis before the First Incarnarium. “You don’t think I ever forget, do you? Make it night again, Ash. Let’s see what we can see by starlight.”

He raised his eyebrows at her and she thought he’d never looked so attractive. She wanted to reach up and run her hands over his face, but resisted. It was just the hallucinogen influencing her, after all. Instead, as his wings swept out and once again night fell over the mountain, she watched the ground.

It took a moment for the effect to fade in completely, but when it had, a new plant had joined the pebbles and the grass. Growing close to the ground was a cluster of small, white flowers.


	31. 23: One

The first twelve children of the void had been evoked from it together: disorganized and iterated upon as part of the prototyping process. Seven of them had been incarnated before it all went wrong, before Alexis broke Sammael and Sammael broke the world _(and who broke Alexis?)_

It was Malachai, long before he added Beckett to his name, who finished incarnating first: the serpent in the Ark’s fantasy of a new Eden. If anybody could claim the number One, it was he -- but he never really did: not before the Fall and not after he'd become Beckett. His near siblings, Sammael and Dantalion and Anahel, were all far too near for that to matter.

But he _had_ incarnated first, while Twelve, powerful and hard to control, stayed locked in Wonderland as many of their younger, production model siblings gained bodies and lives. They'd never gotten along, the first and the last of the twelve--but the animosity had been distant and easy to avoid before. Malachai could barely touch Wonderland, while Twelve could barely touch the material world.

Now, watching the newly-named Lucifer stroke Piper’s cheek as she gazed up at him with dazzled eyes, Malachai was very sure the material world wasn’t big enough for both of them.

"If I can cope with him, so can you,” whispered the Red Queen, a few of her notes swirling at his ear.

"Mmm?" said Malachai absently, watching how Piper’s cheeks flushed as her chest heaved, She shook off Twelve's hand even as she gave him that smile of hers, the smile that said _You are dangerous, but I trust you not to hurt me._

Idiotic, devastating smile. It was a smile that surrendered. Would she let Twelve kiss her like she let Malachai?

"Mal?" queried the Red Queen, and he remembered she'd said something,

"Oh yes, I can cope." He had so many ways to cope. Whatever Twelve did, he could undo. The trick would be keeping it from Piper. What she didn't know couldn't upset her again.

The Red Queen swore quietly.Then she raised her voice and said, “Raphael, I need Twe--Lucifer and Piper readied for an immediate departure: appropriate garb and survival packs. Recharge her void augment. The sooner the better. We're going to distract the Rex for a while and I'd like to slip the team in under his nose. No, not you, Mal. I need you here."

His eyes narrowed as Piper glanced at him and then down at her feet, her brow furrowed. “I'm going with them to Jabberwocky."

"Oh yes.” Herattention strayed. “Lucifer, if you can't even behave now, we can still scrap this whole plan. Raphael, give the newborn a moment before you lose your temper.”

Twelve, who had been sneering challengingly down at Raphael as she tried to guide Piper from the workshop, all the while maintaining his own grip on the anchor’s other arm, glanced at theRed Queen without a hint of respect. “Far too late for that, little queen.”

Malachai’s fingers twitched with the urge to show him how wrong he was—but before he could make a real decision, Piper said, “Twelve, I have enough brats in my life. I know you can be better.”

That distracted him. While Malachai tried to figure out if ‘brats’ included him, and if that was a good thing, Twelve's gaze shifted to him. The golden void angel smiled coldly. "Very well, my child. Let us go forth and find suitable rainment. As my handmaiden, you can dress me."

“Um..." said Piper, before Raphael succeeded in herding them out.

The Red Queen materialized in her full-sized avatar between Malachai and the exit. “ _No_ , Malachai. If a chaperone is needed, Raphael is more than sufficient. You and I need to talk. And for God's sake, stop smiling like that. You're not hiding anything from me.”

Malachai realized he _was_ smiling and let it slip away, replaced by a flat stare. “What? We both have better things to do than chat.”

“I certainly do,”said theRed Queen with her usual acid. “And yet here we are.” But then she fell silent, staring at him.

That itchy irritation he’d been feeling so much lately outside of Piper’s presence swept over him, papering over other, more uncomfortable feelings. “Well?”

“I'm trying to decide if reassuring you would help. But I don’t think it would. Mal, we need Twelve.”

“Do we? I mean, do we really?” Malachai thought about the Rex of the Jabberwocky, whom he’d seen something of himself in. “The cure may be worse than the disease.”

TheRed Queen made a frustrated sound. “You were on board with this plan as recently as yesterday. You realize Rainbow is coming apart, right?”

He could remember caring about that. It had been a puzzle, a new game, a challenge: keep the Ark functional and safe. It was still a worthy goal, in a way. Piper wanted to be here, after all.

The irritation rose higher, until he remembered the taste of chocolate and her mouth, soft under his. He blew out his breath. “You always have another plan, Your Majesty. _Lucifer_ is hardly your last gasp.”

The Red Queen flickered, her visor flashing, and he recognized the signs of her anger. “I’m not changing the plan without even using him. He and Piper are going to Jabberwocky, and you’re going along as well. _Not_ to interfere between him and Piper, but to help her manage his power, and help them escape once the mission is accomplished. _Both_ of them, Malachai.”

“Of course,” he said, his tone one of mild surprise, while he thought about what he might win instead via negotiations with the Jabberwocky’s Rex. The dissatisfied twist to her mouth suggested that she didn’t believe his answer, but really, wasn’t that her problem? “Did you need anything else?”

“It’s like talking to a brick wall.” The Red Queen eyed him in disgust. He grinned at her out of habit and achieved a single pace closer to the exit before it slid open to reveal the Director of the Ark.

“Sajan, shake him for me,” ordered the Red Queen. “If I do it, he’s getting injected with something.”

The slight, red-haired man blinked. “Something’s wrong?”

Waving a hand in annoyance, the Red Queen said, “Malachai’s forgotten how to play well with others, and I can’t keep him for detention right now.”

“Ah,” said Sajan, still blocking the exit as he inspected Malachai. “You said you had other tasks, Your Majesty. Why don’t you attend to those?”

In response, the Red Queen’s avatar exploded into a cloud of sparkling motes that vanished into the shadows of the room.

Malachai eyed Sajan warily. Even as irritation gave way to frustration, it couldn’t entirely obscure an affection for the human that dragged at him like a millstone. For a very long time, he’d relied on Sajan’s judgement and even now it was… surprisingly hard to shake off that habit.

Sajan took off his glasses to polish them. “How are you doing, old friend?”

“Oh, pretty good, given the situation.” He answered with an automatic ease, and meant to go on saying automatic things, deflecting, distracting, escaping.

But then Sajan said quietly, “Oh yeah? Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?” and the soft words brought Malachai’s frustration crashing over him.

He flung himself in one of the console chairs with enough force to send it rolling across the floor. “Sure. Why not.” He ran a hand through his hair as Sajan leaned against the wall, watching him with a gentle gaze he almost hated.

Almost. He knew too much of what Sajan had gone through, what Sajan was _still_ going through. He felt the weight of that gaze even now. It caught him, entangled him, made him think of Piper, and how he’d kept Rain’s secret because of how Piper had looked at him.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said abruptly, and then stopped as he heard himself. Now he _couldn’t_ look at Sajan. Better not to know if he was smirking or worried as a result of Malachai’s confession.

“What do you _want_ to do?” If Sajan smiled or frowned, he kept it from his voice.

The question curled Malachai’s fingers into fists. “I don’t know.” When Sajan merely shifted his weight, listening quietly, he added, “Get out of this workshop. Stop having this conversation.”

“Sure,” said Sajan, but Malachai didn’t get up and leave. Instead he tilted his head back over the chair and spun it, looking at the ceiling as he lifted his feet up.

“You did a good thing bringing Piper to us, you know.”

“Hah. Did I?” Malachai jammed his hands into his pockets. “ But I don’t think we’d be in this situation if I hadn’t. I have wished _so many times_ lately that I’d kept her in the city where I’d found her.” Would he have gotten bored with her, if he’d kept her safe, secret and all to himself? But there was no point in wondering that now.

“Oh? But instead you did what we needed you to do—even if we didn’t know it.”

Malachai shot a glance at Sajan and saw only the calm, thoughtful expression he usually loved disrupting. He indicated himself. “You might have needed her, but you didn’t need this.”

Sajan straightened. “Pardon? What are you referring to?”

“I would have severed her bond to Ashmedai if I’d had to, you know. Not for any good reason. Not for Rain—hah, certainly not for her, the poor kid. Not for Piper. For me.” He watched the pipes running over the workshop ceiling spinning above him.

Then Sajan caught his chair, stopping its rotation, momentarily pinning him in place with a suddenly sharp gaze. “Would you have? Really? But you didn’t.”

Malachai kicked the chair away from Sajan in an explosion of energy. “I know! And it’s really pissing me off! If I had—” He thought again of chocolate, and moments snatched with Piper when he’d been the only thing shining in her eyes. When she’d teased him and laughed, and he’d felt a strange, shattering joy.

She said she wanted to know the real him, but that was impossible. If she ever managed to see the real him past her rose-colored glasses, she’d definitely disapprove. Luckily for him, she did have those glasses, even if he spent a bewildering amount of time wanting to rip them away from her.

“Malachai?” said Sajan gently, and Mal’s attention snapped back to him. Sajan, whose idealism had endured everything Malachai had ever thrown at him, even Philip Beckett’s death. As if reassuring _him_ , he said, “You’re not going to betray us, Mal.”

A careless laugh would have been appropriate, but Malachai couldn’t summon one. “Oh yeah? Yet I think about it constantly now. I thought I _had_ when I stopped Ashmedai from fighting Sammael.”

Sajan adjusted his glasses, giving him a keen look. “You wouldn’t have let Rain or I die then either, you know. Nor anybody else in the Ark.”

“How do you _know_?” demanded Malachai, that itchy irritation rising again.

“Well, for one, because you care about Ashmedai. Imagine how upset he would have been. We might never have gotten him back again. You’ve worked too hard to let that happen.”

Malachai blinked and remembered, distantly, as if it had been a decade ago, that he’d been bringing back Anchor candidate after candidate _for Ashmedai_ in particular—not so Ash could fight the then-missing Sammael, but so the most troubled of Mal’s little brothers could find a better balance. Then he pointed out, “I promise, I wasn’t thinking about that _at all_ when I saved Piper.”

“Contrary Mal,” said Sajan, smiling at him. “What were you thinking, then?

Shrugging, remembering, he said, “About Piper laughing. Oh, and also about whether Sammael would get close enough that I could rip his wings off.”

“Ah,” said Sajan, and fell silent for a few moments.

Malachai spun his chair again, until the other man cleared his throat. He stopped, one foot down, and gave the Director an inquiring look, because it was an unusual thing for Sajan to do mid-conversation.

“Mal… you know Philip’s last Command couldn’t possibly bind you this long, yes?”

 _Oh._ He tilted his head back again. “Obviously. It probably didn’t even last a year.” He’d pretended otherwise for so long but there was no point now.

“And yet you’ve continued to help us all this time. Do you know why?”

“Boredom, I guess. The Ark was entertaining.”

He really didn’t need to hear Sajan laugh at him, but the man did anyhow: a bright loud sound. “Malachai, I’ve seen you _so bored_ here. You have stayed with us through the most boring moments in your life, cursing the Command that compelled it—”

Mal gave him a narrow-eyed stare. “I’m not a good person, Sajan.”

“Certainly not,” agreed the other vehemently. “You have a terrible personality. Your idea of humor is awful, and when you _are_ bored, you’re the worst pest in the world.”

Something wound tight within Malachai eased a little at this description, but all he said was, “Well then? What are you rambling about?”

Sajan gave him a lopsided grin. “Piper’s a sweetheart, and you’re not going to betray us because of her.”

Malachai brought his fist down on the console with a thump. “She is objectively _adorable_ , Sajan. And if you think I’m not going to engineer Twelve’s downfall—preferably right in front of her—you are one hundred percent wrong.”

“Ah, well, on that front, I told her I wouldn’t get involved between the two of you—”

“Good—wait, what? You _did?_ When? What did she say about me?” Malachai sprang to his feet.

Sajan backed away, holding his hands up defensively. “All I’m saying is that your relationship with her is up to you. It doesn’t make you any less of my friend.”

Malachai’s breath hissed between his teeth and then he scowled. “You’refinally getting cunning, Sajan. Fine. Am I done with detention now? Can I go get my travel bag? Or is the Red Queen’s plan changing after all?”

“The plan’s not changing, and I’m not keeping you here, Mal. I never have been.”

With a wince that was half-shudder, Malachai gave Sajan a filthy look for the completely unnecessary final underscoring of his point, and stalked out of the room to prepare for the damn mission.

After Malachai had vanished down the hall, the Red Queen materializeda palm-sized avatar again. “He’s getting worse, Sajan. The way he was watching Twelve and Piper… Even if you shook him back to himself today, it’s not going to last.”

“Mmm,” said Sajan thoughtfully. “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“Do you genuinely believe he won’t betray us?”

The Director took his glasses off and began to clean them. “It doesn’t really matter if I believe it. He has to realize on his own that confusion isn’t treachery, and love isn’t monstrous. He’s smart. He’ll get there.”

“Hah,” scoffed the Red Queen. “And make a hell of a mess on the way. The collateral damage could be enormous. _Love_. Your optimism is incredible sometimes.”

“Is it? It’s not blind, though.” He put his cleaned glasses back on. “For example, I’m a lot more worried about Rain and Ashmedai.”

“Oh,” said the Red Queen glumly and sighed. “Yes. Them.”


	32. 24: The Flower King

Rain stepped forward with a thrill of triumph, fully intending to grind the patch of white flowers beneath her foot.

“Wait, no!” said the Red Queen, her voice alarmed, as Ashmedai yanked Rain backwards. The starlight over the bed of flowers thickened and then shattered in a spray of shards around a figure in full armor, including a closed helm. They had a big sword in their hands, and a green cape fluttering from their shoulders. Instantly they stepped forward, ready to fight. Their boots left deep impressions in the earth.

Ashmedai smiled and his hand swept forward, a beam of light emerging from his palm. It skittered over the knight’s form like water on glass, fading without leaving a mark. The knight stepped forward again, armor clanking, and swung their sword in a wide arc. 

Rain didn’t need Ashmedai’s shove to scramble back out of the way. He ducked the sword and came up pulling out his own, a grin twisting his face. She felt the draw of his blade like a fist snatching her breath away—but then it steadied, becoming the buzz of something operating at a higher gear. His breath and heartbeat pulsed through her like a distant music as he fought the manifested knight.

At first, it was simply a clash of swords, without beauty or grace. The armored figure seemed inclined to push past Ashmedai toward Rain, and the angel fought defensively. But as he settled into the rhythm of the exchange, he began to drive forward, landing several blows on the knight’s armor. Normal armor, his blade would have sheared right through, but the knight resisted his blade almost as well as his moonfire. Each strike of the glowing sword left deep scratches behind.

Rain thought that if Ash could only hold his sword against the armor for a moment it would cut through. But the knight was pretty good at not letting him do that. She felt Ash’s heartbeat speed up as his grin became bared teeth. A faint silver glowed in the depths of his eyes. Gradually, his movements became smoother, more elegant and more swift: steps in a dance he knew perfectly.

And then, in the blink of an eye, he swept the knight to the ground with his leg and his sword. Before his enemy could recover, he leaned his sword on the other’s breastplate until it pierced through the metal. Instantly, the figure exploded into the same shards of light that had heralded their arrival.

Somebody applauded, and Rain realized another entity had been watching the duel too. The newcomer sat in the air over the flowers, one leg pulled up casually. Light shone through him like he was one of the Red Queen’s less solid avatars. A waterfall of silvery hair tumbled down his back, and he wore a sleeveless black top tight over matching trousers. Although his face was unlined, there was something ageless and terrifying about his lilac eyes. And yet his smile was gregarious, even friendly.

Rain recognized him instantly from her dreams and wished she didn’t. Before she could say anything, Ashmedai swung his blade at the figure. The figure, despite seeming transparent, caught the sword’s blade and held it momentarily before it dissolved.

“You’re really very good, but you can’t hurt me like this, I’m afraid. I’m not really here. Just watching!” The Jabberwocky’s Rex gave Ash a wave the angel didn’t return.

The Red Queen said, her cloud of motes glittering, “Ah. I was hoping you’d drop by for a chat.”

Ashmedai backed up a few steps, reaching unerringly behind him for Rain. Rain, struggling to push down dream-memories the Rex’s voice had stirred up, almost resisted. Then she realized Ash’s eyes still had the lambent glow of his worst self and let him pull her close, until she stood in front of him. One of his arms snaked around her waist, while he very lightly touched her throat with his other hand, just enough to feel her pulse. His mouth dipped to her ear, and although he didn’t say anything, she could tell how much the fight had turned him on.

That didn’t worry her nearly as much as the Rex. She stared at that one nervously, even as she felt Ashmedai’s breathing calm and his battle lust fade.

“Oh, certainly,” said the Rex, smiling at Rain. “I thought it was finally time to drop in and introduce myself to the young lady. We’ve been getting along so well in her dreams.”

“Well?” said Rain, resisting the urge to burrow back against Ashmedai’s chest. “Go ahead. Introduce yourself.”

Without rising, he sketched a bow. “Call me Merlin, Miss Rain.” His gaze went to Ashmedai. “I see you’re making progress with the suitor.”

Rain’s face heated. But even with the blood rushing in her ears, she could act. She pulled away from Ashmedai and glared at Merlin. “What do you want?”

Cheerfully, the Rex said, “Oh, you don’t have to get me anything, I’m good. Although…”

Rain promised herself she’d never leave the Ark again without some of the Red Queen’s little toys and just barely stopped herself from kicking dirt at Merlin—mostly because of Ash’s hand sliding up her back. She could also feel his sword, just on the edge of being re-summoned in his other hand. It was distracting.

“Why are you attacking us?” she enunciated, since clearly he’d missed the gist of her question.

“Oh! Sam wants that other girl, the one who saw him first. I thought while I was here, I might as well annex your land.” Merlin’s eyes twinkled. “Technically, all of Faerie is mine now, anyhow.”

“You can’t do that,” said Ashmedai, his deep voice flat.

“Oh, I know,” said the Rex. His long silver hair swung over his shoulder as he leaned forward. “But I am anyhow.” He smiled at Ash. “You know what I mean. How you can just exert yourself and _take_.”

Ash closed his sword hand and then opened it, flexing his fingers. His fingers against her back curled, digging just a little into her skin before his hand fell away. 

“You’re a jerk,” said Rain bluntly. “A jerk and a dumbass.”

Merlin’s smile twisted wryly. “From what I’ve seen, I believe that means you like me.”

Her brows drew together. Alexis Rex had reacted badly to such direct speech; Rain still remembered the pain some nights. It had been when she’d finally given up on saving the little girl Alexis had been. But where Alexis Rex had exploded, Merlin seemed to be _teasing her_.

“No way in hell,” she snapped. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I certainly am not,” he said immediately. “I am extremely entertained.” His gaze flicked over Rain’s shoulder to Ashmedai and then back to her again, and his voice dropped to a murmur that seduced her forward a step. “Come now, Rain. We’ve talked about this. You even made a few practice runs. Perhaps you’ve forgotten?”

Rain shook her head in rejection of what he was saying. She knew he’d been in her dreams, but she’d worked hard at ignoring them. She wasn’t going to let him bring them back up again. Yet his voice was beautiful, a voice as smooth as polished wood. She couldn’t help but take another step closer, until Ashmedai caught her wrist loosely.

“There you go,” said Merlin encouragingly. “Now that he’s captured you, you can submit, just the way you wish.”

Rain desperately reminded herself that Ashmedai already knew her surface feelings via the bond, but that didn’t stop her face from catching on fire. She sought refuge in aggression.

“You’re very chatty,” she snarled as she shook herself free of Ashmedai. “Why don’t you tell us what would make you go away?”

He reached out, wiggling his fingers as if to lure a stray cat closer. “Nothing occurs to me, alas. This is far more fun than I’ve had in ages, and after the annexation is done, reclaiming this wasteland will kill some time too.” He smiled again. “Now, why don’t you come a little closer and we’ll see if we can make your knight jealous. I think that will be very exciting!”

Rain stared hard at the Rex, and then abruptly turned away. Something was wrong, and looking at his friendly smile was too confusing, too enraging. She didn’t understand what was happening: not what the Rex wanted, nor what she was supposed to be doing. Negotiation was not her strong point. And while the Rex was acting whimsically, nonsensically, she couldn’t dismiss him as simply insane. She’d seen what Alexis Rex had been capable of. So she stared at the scrubby ground cover instead, rubbing her burning cheeks.

The Red Queen had been very quiet. That probably meant she was doing something else. And yet getting intelligence on the Rex would normally have been her highest priority. What else was going on?

“Oh dear, did I upset her? Why don’t you help her feel better, Ashmedai?” Merlin’s voice was lilting. “I’m certain you know how to do that.”

The hair rose on the back of Rain’s neck, but Ash only said, “Yes. Killing you would probably work. Why don’t you come a little closer?”

Merlin chuckled. “No, no. What she needs is your arms around her.”

“Your Majesty, why are we putting up with this?” demanded Ashmedai, his sword finally fully manifesting again. The second initialization sent a rush of blood to Rain’s head and she almost lost her balance where she crouched.

The Red Queen made a noncommittal sound before saying, “I’m curious, too, Ash. She’s about to fall over. I know you two have had your differences, but maybe now’s the time to sort them out.”

Even with her head swimming, Rain could hear the falsity in the Red Queen’s voice. For a split-second it bewildered her, and then she remembered and understood. Whatever else the Red Queen was doing, she wanted Ashmedai and Rain to serve as a distraction. But the thought of putting her shame and confusion on display for the Rex horrified her. She dragged in a deep breath, hoping that her new partner could be distracting all on his own.

“What?” demanded Ash. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh no,” said Merlin lightly. “My fellow monarch is on to me. It turns out I can only be driven off by the poison of a couple giving into their deepest longings… well, a couple, or a threesome. Or even more!” When Rain stole a sideways glance at him, she saw he had an eyebrow cocked hopefully, as if his insincerity would work.

Then he said, “Are you worried about being rejected? But she never cared what you wanted, did she? Why should you care what she wants?” Dropping his voice to a confiding whisper, he added, “Besides, she does want this. She wants you to overwhelm her protests, take away her choice, dominate her.”

Another tremor of emotion shook Rain, a knot so twisted she couldn’t even name it. She felt the lightest brush of a hand over the top of her head and then Ashmedai said, “I know she does. That’s why I’m not doing it.”

“Hmm, won’t you?” Merlin cocked his head. “But it’s so natural for you.”

A hard note in his voice, Ash said, “You don’t know me as well as you think.”

“Well, no,” admitted the Rex. “Mostly from her dreams. But the parts that are her memories seem to bear my theory out. Or did you have some other reason to be that pushy?”

Even through her own distress, Rain could feel Ashmedai’s rage rising, and she hoped he’d burn the Rex’s presence from the mountain. But, no, that would end the interview, potentially allowing Merlin to notice whatever the Red Queen was doing.

Unsteadily, she stood up, curling her hand in Ashmedai’s shirt as she did. He caught her around the waist with his free hand, pulling her close to his side—but he didn’t look at her until she put her arms around him.

His head jerked around as he stared at her. Softly, she said, “I know why. You were lonely.”

When his dark eyes widened and he stared at her in blank surprise, she felt a pang of emotion she shoved down. She had to do her part. Then his hand on her waist tightened, biting into her soft flesh as his eyes slowly narrowed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rain saw Merlin blow a puff of golden dust off his palm toward them. She couldn’t tell if it was real or illusion; the scent of the hallucinogen was already thick in her nose—

—and then Ashmedai was kissing her hard. She’d been trying to entice that exact response, and yet it first surprised her—his teeth were sharper than she remembered—and then confused her as he _kept_ kissing her, and finally made her knees wobble. Then he pulled her head back by her hair to expose her neck, trailing his mouth down the line of her throat. The entire experience was _different_ , somehow. Rougher, even compared to when he’d pinned her against the wall outside her room.

It was only when he lifted his head to look at the keenly interested Rex that she realized his eyes were glowing bright silver again, and that he was absolutely furious. 

He rasped, still holding her head pulled back, “Merlin, was it? I’ll make you an offer. Send Sammael over to play again, and I will do _anything you want_ to her.”

Merlin’s gaze travelled slowly down Rain’s body and then up again. “Would you, now? Before or after playing with him?”

“After,” said Ashmedai flatly. 

Rain recovered from her shock and twisted her head and body in a struggle to escape him. He released her with a little shove to one side, his gaze fixed on the Rex. She stumbled and caught herself, breathing hard, her every muscle taut as she tried to organize thoughts spinning wildly out of control. All she could pin down was that she hated everybody present at that moment: Merlin, the Red Queen, Ashmedai, and herself.

“Tricky…” After musing a space, Merlin said, “Well, darn. ‘ _After’_ clearly won’t serve, but if I could convince you about ‘ _before’_ , you could at least both go out satisfied. On the other hand, I hadn’t been planning on letting Sam out again until we sorted through the annexation.” He looked between them and then added, as if he wasn’t sure they understood. “Dead people are so boring, I’ve found.”

“Which is why you’ve been repeatedly sending ground troops to attack us,” said the Red Queen coldly. 

“Ah ah!” Merlin held up a finger. “But no more than you could manage, yes? I’ve enjoyed those bouts.”

Thickly, Rain asked, “If this is just a game for you, what happens when you do overrun us?”

Merlin gave her a charmingly sweet smile. “There are always new ways to play, Rain.”

Her bones like ice, Rain slowly straightened her shoulders. Then she turned and started walking back to the Ark. To hell with the Red Queen’s distraction. She was _done,_ and she didn’t want to give him a moment’s more entertainment.

Unfortunately, much like Malachai, he could apparently even enjoy being snubbed. He chuckled and said, “Well, that was refreshing. I’ll think over your proposal, Ashmedai. Expect to hear from me again, okay?”

Only a few steps later, the smell of burning flowers wafted to Rain’s nose, and Ashmedai said acidly, “I hope you got what you needed from your distraction, Your Majesty.”

The Red Queen, her voice hollowed of all emotion, said, “I don’t know. There are too many variables still.”

Rain kept walking into the starlit night, letting the wind carry further words away. As she hiked across the mountainside, she clung to the vision of Ash coming up behind her, catching her arm, trying to fly her back. In her mind, she angrily shook him off each time. In her mind, she even screamed at him, venting her emotions at him with words instead of more physical ways.

But she made it all the way back to the Ark alone, sweating some from the slope. She’d noticed that the stars of Ashmedai’s night had never faded into Anahel’s empty darkness, but it wasn’t until she turned around and nearly jumped out of her skin that she realized the oppressive pressure she’d been feeling had been coming from a few meters behind her.

Ashmedai stopped as she turned, those few meters away. His eyes still glowed like polished silver, and he bared his teeth as she pressed her hand to her pounding heart. For a moment he looked more demonic than anything Merlin had conjured.

“What is _wrong_ with you?” she cried, her unsettled emotions rising to the breaking point.

“Everything.” His voice was once again smooth and sweet. “Won’t you talk to me before we go inside?’ His wings flexed, shedding a faint fire, and she saw beyond him the burned trail he’d left on the already bleak mountainside.

Reluctantly, Rain admitted to herself she’d hurt him with her tactical use of sympathy. She’d known it at the time, and she’d done it anyhow. She wrapped her arms around herself against a chill from within. “Talk? Sure. Fine. What?”

He regarded her for another moment and then paced across the intervening space. She hunched her shoulders as he got closer, tucking her hands into her armpits. But when he was close enough to touch her, he pulled one of her hands into his own and she couldn’t bring herself to fight back.

Their fingers laced together as he lifted their hands between them, as if an invisible, intangible fence separated them. When he spoke, his voice was so quiet she could barely hear him.

“I find it… annoying that I can’t hurt you like you hurt me, because you’re all booked up hurting yourself.”

Rain looked away, at the darkness. “I’m a talented girl.”

He leaned in, just enough to imply sharing a confidence. “Yes. And every time I kiss you, from now until the end of your life, no matter how gentle I am, I want you to think about _how much I hate you_.”

_You’ve never been gentle kissing me_. The words trembled on suddenly numb lips before Rain realized she was pressing them together hard to stop the hard lump in her throat from bursting out. It _hurt_ , like a spike of salt jammed down the back of her eyes and nose before choking her.

Gasping, she looked down, yanking her hand free of his unconsciously and pressing her palms against her eyes. She held them there for several long moments, until the pain no longer seemed like it would escape her. Then, dragging in a deep breath, she looked up.

Ashmedai still stood there, regarding her expressionlessly, his eyes once again as dark as night. He said nothing more, so after scanning his face, trying to understand his suddenly constrained reaction, she went into the Ark.

Once again, he trailed behind her. But that was all right. She led him directly to his quarters, one of the deluxe rooms in a corridor near Piper’s. Then she stared at the floor while he opened the door. When he held it for her, she walked past him directly to the bed. 

It was so much bigger than hers. That would be nice.

Rain turned back to look at him. He hadn’t moved from the entrance. She spread her hands. “Well, here I am. Do what you want to me.” She felt distantly proud of how her voice didn’t break.

The lingering glimmers of his wings faded. He moved toward her, looking her up and down just like Merlin had. 

_Not—not a good memory. Not now._ She trapped a whimper behind her teeth, caught between the visceral memory of her rage when he’d offered her up as a trade for Sammael, and her anguish when he’d told her his hate. Neither of those mattered right then.

But they were two sides of the same messy awfulness, and she couldn’t escape them. She didn’t know what she was doing, or thinking, or even _feeling_ , only that surrendering to him would somehow make her feel better. Make her feel more like herself.

Ash’s long fingers stroked along her shoulders and she shivered free of the memories. Still dark-eyed, expressionless, he ran his hands down her side and pulled off the sweatshirt she’d put on, and then her undershirt, pausing at her bra. His nostrils flared as he caught the scent of her sweat and he moved down to removing her jeans. 

She stared down at his flexing shoulders as he finished removing everything but her underwear, a faint line of puzzlement wrinkling her brow. Then he lowered her panties and the simple movement sent heat tickling through her stomach. After helping her step out of them, he took off her bra—

—and then he pulled one of his own heavy t-shirts from the clean laundry basket beside his bed. As she blinked, it dropped over her head. Bewildered, she fought her way into it and stared up at him. 

But as she opened her mouth to express her confusion, he pressed his forehead against hers. “Go to sleep.” His breath brushed across her face.

Then he pushed her into his bed, pulled his blankets up to her chest and sat on the mattress beside her. A hand came down on her head, softly stroking her hair. Only then did she remember his hand moving like that before; gentle, as his kisses had never been.

He didn’t look at her, staring fixedly off into space as his hand moved. Soon, before she’d worked through whiplash to understand what was going on, the irresistible warmth of his hand relaxed her so much that sleep inexorably followed.


	33. 25: Into Avalon

“Malachai felt it was appropriate to tease me about keeping this gear in readiness for the last six years. And yet if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be nearly as prepared for this now.” Raphael sounded satisfied, even smug, as she pushed a heavy pack into Piper’s arms. They stood in a storeroom full of racks of sturdy clothes and shelves of miscellaneous gear, the stark lighting dulling Raphael’s eyes to brown. Somehow Twelve’s eyes still glowed crimson, though.

 _Ready_ , Piper repeated to herself. She could totally be ready, right? She and Twelve had been ordered into clothes Raphael had pulled off hangers, and thank heavens Twelve—Lucifer? No, she couldn’t think of him like that—thank heavens Twelve hadn’t insisted on her dressing him like he’d intimated in the workshop. Raphael had been quite protective of her modesty, pushing her behind a screen to change, and Twelve had been too busy criticizing the outfit chosen to notice.

 _Ready_. Except for how she didn’t really know where they were going or what they’d be doing once they got there, or why everything was suddenly being rushed along. Nobody seemed to have time to explain, or as Raphael had put it, _‘time to confuse her.’_

Raphael clasped a packed belt around her waist and moved onto Twelve, picking up a different pack for him, a bit smaller than her own.

“What?” He raised his eyebrows. “You expect me to be a packhorse as well as wearing… _these_?” He patted the tan hiking pants she’d picked out for him.

Fire kindled in Raphael’s eyes, but all she said was, “It should not be too heavy for you, unless the Red Queen miscalculated in constructing your body. Here, take it, so we can test that.”

Piper felt his flare of disapproval at the mention of the Red Queen. With a long-suffering sigh, he easily hefted the pack in one hand.

Raphael nodded firmly. “That seems adequate.” She scanned Piper up and down one more time and said briskly, “Your hat. Do you wish to bring it or another? If you value it highly, I suggest leaving it here.”

Piper had left her hat in the workshop with her personal bag, and her heart swelled at Raphael’s question. “I’ll do that. I don’t want to lose it. But I wouldn’t mind another one.” She looked around but saw no obvious hat racks.

But Raphael nodded and vanished into the depths of the storeroom as if she knew where she was going. Piper waited, telling herself again and again that she was _ready_ , although she had very little idea what she was _ready_ for, and trying to ignore Twelve’s gaze on her.

“This is ridiculous,” he said softly, as if to himself. “We should both be in silks and jewels. But the taste of the Red Queen’s panic in the air is intoxicating and so this we allow. They are lucky.” He clicked his tongue at his pack and slung it over his shoulder.

Piper felt like it was a moment for her to be bright and cheerful, but before she could figure out the right bright and cheerful thing to say, Raphael re-emerged from the racks holding a familiar black hat.

“Uh,” Piper said in alarm. “Is Dantalion going to be ok with me borrowing his hat?”

With a little smile, Raphael looked down at the hat as she adjusted the interior band. “He is something of a sourpuss, but he won’t really mind. Not if it helps you.” She fitted the hat on Piper’s head. “But do try to bring it back.”

“Bah!” said Twelve, with a kind of joyful provocation. “And where is my decoration, woman?”

The warmth in Raphael’s eyes vanished as she glanced at Twelve.

Hastily Piper said, “He’s just teasing. He’s having a great time, really,” and then flushed as Twelve’s gaze once again rested on her with an indulgent look.

“Newborns,” muttered Raphael. “It is unfortunate that this plan depends so heavily on Malachai to act as the experienced adult. If I could go as well—” She shook her head. “Come along. Hurry.”

“Where to now?” asked Piper, brightly and with cheer.

“Workshop Theta.” Raphael set off down the corridor at a pace that had Piper, weighed down with the hiking pack, stumbling to keep up.

“But we’re going to Jabberwocky eventually, right?”

“You’ll see. You’ll understand then.”

It wasn’t a long walk, and Malachai was already there, leaning on the open doorframe. He hadn’t changed from his semi-casual wear, but he had his own backpack over his shoulder and it was even smaller than Twelve’s. If anybody but Raphael had handed her the pack she wore, she be starting to suspect some joke at work.

“Come on in,” he said, without his usual smile.

“ _Jabberwocky_ has been renamed _Avalon_ ,” the Red Queen announced, her voice flat and mechanical. “You will step through the recalibrated portal in the room. Malachai will explain matters on the other side.”

“Don’t think too hard about where the portal’s coming from,” advised Malachai, reaching out a gloved hand to pull Piper into the workshop. “You first, _Lucifer_.”

Workshop Theta was small and dim, save for the shimmering white glow hovering above a bumpy tarp on the floor. Piper couldn’t help but notice a number of cables and tubes running under the tarp. She stopped short, her breath caught in her throat, as she remembered the invader’s demons warping in upon the explosive death of their fellows.

Twelve ghosted past her. “Of course.” But he caught Piper’s hand as he went, pulling her after him hard enough that when she didn’t follow, he pulled her straight off her feet. Malachai caught her around the waist, saving her from falling on her face, as Twelve turned back.

“Give her to me. There will be no last second changes of plan.”

For a moment, Piper was literally pulled between the two angels: Malachai’s dark spikiness clashing against the flash of — fear? she could feel under Twelve’s glittering arrogance.

“ _Malachai,_ ” snapped the Red Queen, and he released Piper. She stumbled again and Twelve lifted her up, backpack and all. Heedless of her flailing, he took two steps further and white light exploded around them.

They fell, just long enough for Piper’s every muscle to tense to cling to Twelve, and then landed with a jolt. Twelve straightened up, took two steps and let Piper slip to the ground as he shook his head. “Unpleasant. Like a second incarnation.”

Piper caught her balance as Malachai appeared behind Twelve through a sparkle in the air that winked out as soon as he stepped away. He too shook his head, and then dragged in a deep breath and brought his hand up to his face. “Hell. Fuck. Why did I do this?”

They stood in a predawn hardwood forest, in a small clearing dominated by a partially buried boulder. Leaf mulch crunched underfoot as Twelve took a step past her, looking around. Conversationally, he said, “Yes, that was a mistake, wasn’t it, _Malachai_.”

For a moment, Piper felt Malachai’s spikiness pulse out from him like a black and red wave. He hunched his shoulders, holding himself. It reminded Piper of when they’d been approaching Rainbow in the jet, except much, much worse.

Then he _flickered_ , like a film strip missing frames. Piper squeaked and stumbled toward him in horror. But as she reached out a hand, Twelve grabbed her once again and pulled her away. “No. If he falls through the world, you won’t be going too.”

“What? No! We have to hold him somehow.”

Malachai half-smiled, half-grimaced. “What, like with an anchor?”

"This is his own power at work," said Twelve, his grip not loosening. "There's nothing you can do."

“What’s going on?” she demanded, glancing between them. Twelve’s impassive expression told her nothing, while the glitter in Malachai's eyes contrasted strangely with the white lines of pain around his mouth.

Slowly, as if concentrating on the words, he said, ”Remember what happens when I touch you, Piper? I mean, to your connection to the others? And how the wind didn't cut so bad in the godstorm?"

Her eyes widened as understanding dawned. “Your ability is trying to… cancel the incarnarium.”

“Well done, my child,” said Twelve acidly. “But he and Rainbow survive, so I’m sure he’ll be fine here if we leave him alone.”

“True,” Malachai said, almost lightly. “Take a look around and give me a few minutes.”

Piper glanced around again quickly, and saw only trees in every direction. It honestly worried her almost as much as Malachai’s condition. She liked trees, but being lost in the forest was legitimately dangerous; if they didn’t have the packs, which presumably contained camping gear and supplies, she’d feel near panic.

Instead she closed her eyes and inhaled. Trees and greenery, of course—but a hint of woodsmoke, and the fresh tang of water from another direction. “Okay,” she said. “There’s probably other people nearby. Or more demons. I don’t know what’s _supposed_ to be here.”

“The first incarnarium had a great many people,” said Twelve absently, his tone reminding her of time as motes: dispensing information he had acquired without showing any attachment to it.

A prickle ran down Piper’s spine and she opened her eyes. “What kind of people?” Malachai had his eyes closed and Twelve stared off into the distance as if not seeing anything.

“Unworthy ones, I imagine. I expect those here will be the same. Ah. I can sense the power currents of this place.” Twelve raised a hand like he had in the workshop and a glow gathered about it. He smiled, and the glow gave his expression a devilish cast. “This incarnarium is so much stronger than Rainbow. I can drink and drink, until I have all the power and this incarnarium withers to dust, and then—” His smile broadened. “And then I can do whatever I want, to Sammael, or the Red Queen, or the world.”


	34. 26: A Real Forest

Piper stared at Twelve with wide, worried eyes as the glow brightened around him and he gave a distinctly sinister laugh. Whatever he was doing, she couldn’t imagine it would be good for him _or_ the forest they’d found themselves in, let alone any people here. She wondered if she ought to use one of the charges in her void augment to hold him back, and hesitated because she wasn’t quite sure how to do it.

She threw an anxious look at Malachai and saw with some surprise he was standing right behind Twelve, his face pale but his usual small smile back in place. The brightening dawn didn’t touch his eyes, though.

He started tugging off a glove. “Not so fast, _Lucifer_. That’s not the plan. That’s _never_ going to be the plan, and if you get too attached to it…” He wiggled his fingers as if stretching them.

Twelve’s hand continued to shed light as he sneered down at the other man. “Do you really think you could catch me if I pulled in even a fifth of the power here?”

Malachai sighed. “I don’t need to catch you. Please don’t test my motivation to kick you out of the picture. It might upset Piper.”

Piper reached up and grabbed Twelve’s wrist, pulling his hand down. The glow tingled a little but seemed otherwise intangible, and Twelve, clearly startled, didn’t resist her.

“Being upset isn’t something I need to avoid, Mal,” she said.

“Oh, true. Be upset at Twel—Lucifer as much as you like.” His voice was warm, even cordial, but his narrow gaze focused on where she held Twelve’s wrist still.

Twelve twisted his hand and the glow vanished as he caught her fingers in his, smirking. Piper promptly removed her fingers from his and turned her back on both men. Even if she had a preference as to which one she’d rather hold hands with, she wasn’t going to stand around and watch them posture at each other. Instead she went to the edge of the clearing and began to examine some of the undergrowth greenery. Nothing she clearly recognized, which was interesting.

“Shall I go over the actual plan now?” Malachai’s voice was practically perky.

“You may,” said Twelve. “I will decide if the tiny Queen’s plan fits my dignity. I didn’t incarnate to do _little_ things.”

“You—of course you didn’t.” Piper thought if she looked over her shoulder, she’d see Malachai with his teeth clenched. She didn’t look, though. After a moment, he went on, standing closer to her. “An incarnarium is powered by energy cores. This one has around ten. One of them is pinning it to Rainbow. Our task is to find the right one, drain it to the dregs to decouple them, and get out with what intelligence we’ve gathered in the process. Do you think that will be meaningful enough for you, oh youngest brother? You’ll only be saving Rainbow and our entire operation.”

Piper spoke to the undergrowth. “How do we find the right one?”

“You heard your partner,” said Mal acidly. “He can sense the power currents. We follow him to the nearest one, I apply the Red Queen’s testing tool and if it’s the right one, we have a party. If not, we keep going.”

“After draining the one we’ve found,” said Twelve smugly.

“ _No.”_ Malachai’s teeth clicked together. “No. That wouldn’t accomplish anything productive and it would definitely let the Rex know we’re here. If we’re quiet and don’t manipulate gobs of power, we can hide. Possibly. Probably.”

“Hah!” said Twelve, and Piper decided she’d had enough.

“All right. Which direction are we going, Twelve?”

“This way, my child,” he said grandly, and she had to turn to see the direction he gestured.

Malachai stood behind her, not too close but looking directly at her in that unsmiling, almost puzzled way he’d looked at her in the hall with Sajan. It was like he was trying to solve her like a riddle.

She took a deep breath, adjusting the weight of the backpack on her shoulders and walked past him. He didn’t address her, or try to touch her, only turned to follow her with his gaze as she walked after Twelve. After a moment, she heard his footsteps fall in behind her.

They walked in silence as the morning brightened and settled into the cadences of day. Birds chirped and insects buzzed; occasionally the undergrowth rippled with animal life. Despite the weariness in her shoulders and her frustration with her companions, Piper couldn’t help but enjoy her surroundings. It seemed like a real and natural place, and she was fascinated at how much more lush it was than Rainbow.

A few times on their hike, Twelve paused, tsked, and led them around isolated dwellings on the nexus of trails. But finally, as the forest dropped away, he stopped, staring ahead with his hands on his hips. As Piper came up beside him, she saw the vast chasm ahead. It didn’t fit the terrain, but it was there nonetheless: a split in the earth wider than the Ark and deeper than it was wide.

She took another step forward and peered down. Tendrils of shadowy mist twisted against the rock and she swayed as vertigo passed over her. Twelve pulled her back again by her pack, and then caught her against his arm as she stumbled. Without a word, he set her on her feet again and released her silently.

Malachai came up on Piper’s other side. “Ah,” he said flatly. “The problem with traveling as the crow flies.”

Hesitantly, Piper said, “Can’t you…?” She gave Twelve a sidelong glance.

He gave her a tight little smile. “Not if, as One says, we strive to remain undetected. My flight would be very visible.”

“Maybe there’s a bridge?” She craned her neck to look up and down the chasm, but the giant gap in the earth faded into mistiness with no sign of a crossing.

“Oh, there is,” said a friendly voice from behind them. “It’s a bit of a challenge to get to, but I can help if you’d like. I’d like to know who you are first, though.”


End file.
